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bratbarzal · 6 months ago

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Let It Happen (LH43) 1/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No school? Check.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deserves better.

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

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

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

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

Luke Hughes loves summer.

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

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

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

He does love living with his brother.

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

And he really is grateful for that.

But, God, can he be annoying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s nothing.”

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

“Fine, it’s Ellie.”

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

“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know her?”

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

Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,”

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

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since when do you work here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Five minutes of your time?”

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

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

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

Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know who you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about ‘em?”

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

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

Us. Oh, he likes that.

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

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

“A nudge, then?”

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

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

“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”

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

“How profound.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is fun.

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

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

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

“We could make a competition out of it.”

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

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

“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t see that happening.”

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

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

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

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

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

But God, you were pretty.

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

“I’m Luke.”

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

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

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Luke.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know her.”

“Clearly.”

“This is her basket.”

“Does she need to sign for it?”

“No, I-,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has you figured out, by now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cole Caufield being one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn. You walked yourself right into that one.

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

“You wish.”

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

“I think you’re an idiot.”

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

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

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

“Good for her.”

“Alone.”

“No shit.”

“To ask her out.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How could you possibly know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you find out?”

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

“Does this mean we’re teammates?”

“No. It absolutely does not.”

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

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

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

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

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

Much better.

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

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

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

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

So it has to be for him and Jessica.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was I not supposed to?”

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

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

“Well done, you can read.”

“Why?”

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

“So?”

“He’s on a date.”

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

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

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

“To get his hair cut.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

“Any food?”

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

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

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

“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”

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

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

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

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

“Won’t he complain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In your dreams, Hughes.”

Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That would usually drive him crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re really keeping score?”

“You’re not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She started it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wasn’t feeling it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you get to that conclusion?”

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

A death wish might actually be an understatement.

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

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

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

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

“What, that?”

“You’re so dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not something you really love talking about.

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

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

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

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

Interstellar.

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

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

“Me too. I love space movies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re gonna be so shocked.”

“Sports movies?”

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

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

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

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

“Only if I get to ask one back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>PART TWO<

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

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

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes fluff #my hearts going pitter patter pitter patter like I could throw up #need to post this before I fall asleep lmao #*writing

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spidybaby · 3 months ago

Text

Guess the price

Summary: You do the trend where you lie about the price of your products to your boyfriend.

Warnings: cursing

Barca Boys x Influencer!reader

Pedri

"Hola a todos!" You say to the camera in the bathroom. "I'm going to prank Pedri today, I will be doing a "sephora haul" but I'm exaggerating the prices of the things I got."

You grab the camera and cut the recording. You moved to your setup corner. Pedri knew it was your corner, so he tried to keep it free of mess.

"Pepi, please pass me the black and white bags on the bed?" You ask him. He nods, leaving his phone on the bed and walking over to you with the two bags of sephora makeup products. "Gracias." You smile.

"I'll be quiet over here." He says, kissing your cheek. "You look amazing, by the way."

"Thank you, guapo." You smile, grabbing his hand and squishing it. "I'll try to be quick so we can leave."

He nods, going back to the bed to check his phone. You place a mirror on the back wall behind you where you can see pedri on it. Exactly what you need to for the video.

You hit record once again. "Hi, let's unbox this bags I got at sephora." You smile. "As I said in my last video, I asked you guys for recommendations on makeup products that I can integrate on my routine." You say, taking the products off the bags.

Pedri is listening, he loves listening to you talk. Does he understand? No, but he hears how happy you sound and that's enough.

"I have this hourglass makeup brushes." You show them to the camera. "This one is their ambient soft glow foundation brush, this brush retails for 130 euros and -"

Pedri turns his head to where you are, 130 euros for a brush? He can get you a brush at the store for 1 euro.

"Before using the brush, I'm using this primer from ELF." You show the product. "I know it's super viral, and only for 76 euros."

He puts his phone down. "Qué mierda?" He whispers.

You can't help but smirk. Your eyes watch his reaction in the mirror from your phone screen. "So while I apply this, let me tell you about this foundation I got." You say, showing the foundation. "This is the ambient soft glow foundation, this was on sale for only 250 euros." You smile.

He covers his face with his hands. "No fucking way." He says loud enough for the camera to capture it. "250 fucking euros."

You smile, trying not to laugh. You place it on your face and take a few seconds of you using the brush.

You pause the video, grabbing other products. "Amor," He calls, you press record. "Not to be trying to mind your things, but isn't 250 a little too much?" He asks.

"What, no babe." You smile. "That's just normal makeup pricing." You say, noticing how he shakes his head no. "For concealer I have the Armani Beauty concealer, this retails for 199 on sale." You smile.

"No, Y/n." Pedri says. "You spent more than 600 euros in four products."

"Bebé, shhhh" You shush him. "Now guys, this concealer brush from rare beauty retails for 9-"

"A brush?" He scuffs. "Joder."

You can't help the scuff. "Shh, just a few steps more."

"Mamita querida." He sighs.

"This powder is the One Size powder, I love it so much, and the price is honestly a deal."

"Please don't." He says, covering his face again.

"Since sephora is about to have a sale, you can get this for only 379.99."

"Almost 400 euros." He says in a high-pitched voice. "How is that a deal?"

"Because it's 20 percent off." You say. "And this blush, Patrick Ta."

"Let me guess." He interrupts. "100 bucks?"

"Oh, Pedri." You laugh. "Don't be silly, it's 475." You smile.

"Stop, don't touch that," He yells. "We are taking this back."

You hold your laugh. "Pepi, this was final sale." You say. "Now this contou-"

"Noup," He says, grabbing the product out of your hands. "Videos over." He says, touching the screen, trying to pause it.

"Pedri." You say, taking it from him. You can't help but laugh. "It's a prank, amor. This stuff is not that expensive."

"Pero-" He says. "What?"

You can't help but laugh even harder at his confused face. "Guys, this is why we need to tell our boyfriends about makeup prices." You say, talking to the camera.

"Y/n, wait." Pedri says, reading the receipt. "Why is this brush 65 euros?" He asks, holding the brush.

You look at his and then at the camera. "Maybe they don't need to know about the prices."

"And who's is path and why his eyeshits more than 100?"

"Anyways, love you all." You say, cutting the video. "Pedri, give me that." You say, taking the receipt away. "Your t-shirt costs 400 euros, so cut it."

He opens his mouth. "I'll wait for you downstairs, my love." He smiles. "Take your time."

"That's what I thought." You say, smiling.

Gavi

"Hi guys, today my boyfriend is forcefully doing my makeup." You say, smiling at him.

"I don't know what I'm doing." He says.

"So, this is my routine." You say, giving him a paper with the order or the products. "Also, he's going to try to guess the price of the products."

He looks at the things with curiosity. "Where do I start?" He asks, eyebrow lifted. "How do I know if I'm doing great?"

"You'll do fine, Pabs." You peck him. "The products are in line in the same order as in the paper. The brushes are next to the products that they need to be used for."

He nods, checking the foundation. "Okay, this is the found-" He tries to read the name. "Who's Bobbi Brown?"

"The owner of the brand, love." You smile "how much do you think this costs?"

He tries to apply the foundation as he sees you do it. "Maybe 10 euros?" He asks, concentrating on the blending. "15?"

"Noup, 200." You say.

He pauses. "Two hun-"

"You're missing a spot." You say, pointing at tue spot. "Then you can use the egg like thing."

He nods. "Egg." He chuckles. "Vamos, that's fun." You smile.

"You have to guess the price." You remind him.

"For the egg?" He asks, you nod. "Mmm, 5 euros." He smile.

"Noup, 76."

He opens his eyes.

"No me jodas." He says. "This shit?"

"Amor" You chuckle. "Language."

"Joder, why is this so expensive?" He asks.

"It does the work." You nod. "Now after this, we need concealer." You smile.

He nods. "Don't tell me this is 300."

"Pfff, no." You say. "Only 175."

"Me cago en la p-"

"Pabs, why don't you tell the story of you getting the captain armband?" You change the topic.

"Ufff, eso fue increíble." He smiles, moving the Blender in the wrong way. "I only wore that band twice, and honestly, Pedri is the real one for allowing me to do it."

"We love Pedri." You smile.

"My hermano." Gavi chuckles. "Even tho he is a loser, I won last night ping pong game."

You smile. "Now, do some powder."

"Sip." He says, grabbing the powder.

"Tell my chicos what you are using. You smile.

"This is the hourglass powder." He reads the back of the product. "I think she likes it because it's really used." He jokes.

"Well, I need to save some coin because it is a 430 euros powder."

He lifts his eyes from the powder to your eyes. "How much did you just say?"

"But I think I like my loose powder even more." You grab the powder. "This is the YSL loose powder, it's 734 with discount."

"Fuck." He whispers. "What about the pink thingy?"

"Oh, that's cheap." You say, uninterested. "Only 225."

He drops the powder by accident. "Me cago en la -"

"My powder." You say, pretending to be mortified. "Pablo, that was limited edition."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to break."

"That was a thousand euros ." You say, pretending to cry.

"A thousand?" He yells. "You said it was 400."

"I lied." You fake cried. "I just didn't mean to sound so greedy."

You noticed him trying to pick the powder up from the flood. You look at the camera and try to hold your laugh.

"I'll get you a new one." He says, getting up and handing you the pieces of the powder. "Two if that makes you feel better." He pouts.

You kind of feel bad, he was all pouty, and with those big glassy eyes that make your heart go crazy.

"Oh Pabs, don't worry." You grab his face. "It's nothing."

"No, listen, it was me." He says, hugging you. "Let me make it up to you, let's go and get you a new everything."

You look at the camera and then at him, you shrug and smile at him. "Alright." You smile. "I'll grab my purse, wait for me in the car?" You ask.

He nods, happy that he can fix his mistakes. "Bueno." He pecks you, running out of the room.

You wait for him to close the door. "Listen, you and I know that you would do the same." You say to the camera. "Anyways, I'll post this as soon as I go back." You say, throwing the broke packaging of powder on the trash can. "And you are getting a haul, so don't judge me."

"Who's judging you?" Gavi asks.

"Nobody, let's go." You say, stopping the recording and pressing the "drafts" button to save the video. "Nobody, baby."

Ferran

"Vamos!" Ferran says, seating next to you. "Let's play the game."

"Calm down, Fer." You laugh. "You are so winning this."

You can't help but want to laugh at him. He seems so confident, but he didn't even guess what's next for him.

"Want to do the honors?" You ask, pointing at the phone.

"Hola, chicos" He smiles. "I'm the one and only, the shark, the inimaginable hat trick scorer." He says, smiling and posing for the camera.

"And I'm Y/n!" You laugh. "And WE are playing Guess the Price. Where Ferran will try to guess the price on my makeup."

"Easy, I know a lot about makeup." He smiles. "I know my Dior." He praises.

"Is this the best time to tell you I don't wear Dior?"

"Well, if I win I'm getting you some Dior." He smiles. "Let's begin."

You grab the product. "This is a primer, the brand is Gucci." You show him. "Price?"

"Easy, 90 dollars." He says, proud of himself.

You smile. "And your answer is," You sto to make drums sounds. "Incorrect, it's 300."

"For a cream?" He asks. "I get it, it's Gucci."

"What about this one?"

"That's a Chanel thing." He thinks. "And Gucci was 300, maybe 250?"

"Noup, 75." You smile.

He frowns. "No!" He says, taking the bottle out of your hands. "How?"

You look over at the camera, lifting your eyebrows. "What about this?"

He shakes his head. "Never heard of ELF." He looks at the packaging. "30?"

"That's 175." You smirk. "Did you guys see last night game?" You ask the camera. "Ferran scored a hattrick! Oh my gosh! Now this one."

You take the ELF packaging out of his hands, now placing the Too faced one.

"Better than sex?" He asks, looking at it confused. "Nothing is better than sex." He scuffs. "Five, and that's being generous."

"That's a 200 euros mascara."

"Damn, does it spit on it to make it slide easier?" He asks, throwing it back on the counter.

"Ferran!" You say, looking surprised at him. "What is wrong with you?" You laugh.

"What's next? He asks, laughing too. "Is this a thousand euros Blush?"

"No, it's 65." You say, giving him a look. "What? I like my blushes from Hermes!"

He looks over at the camera. "Are you hearing this?" He asks. "Anyways, what's next?"

You grab a lipstick from primark. Placing it on his hand. "Mmm 3 euros?"

"Yes!" You smile, even tho he's not right, you are giving him the satisfaction. "Good job, babe."

"You hear that?" He asks to the phone. "Shark mentality, never give up, eat your greens, meditate and remember you are amazing!"

"We are not done." You call him, watching him getting out of the room.

"I win, now let's go." He smiles. "Drinks on me!"

Your mouth forms an "o," looking at him and back at the camera.

Fermin

"Hello" You whisper. "Fermin is about to come here and watch something on the TV, I want to pull this prank where I talk to you about my skin care and makeup routine, but faking the prices."

You wait for fermin to walk and get comfortable on the sofa. You try your best to set up the camera so you can film his reaction.

"As I promised yesterday, I'm going to be going through my skincare and makeup routine." You explain at the camera.

You grab your moisturizing cream. "This is my favorite cream, it hydrate really well, and it helps with skin smoothening." You show the bottle. "I got this during a trip to Italy, it was around 2 thousand euros, but its worth it."

Fermin can't help but turn his head around. The price you just mentioned was crazy for the small bottle you are holding.

"I also have this night cream, it was a little bit more expensive, but it works wonders." You show the night cream. "It was 3 thousand, and that's with a discount."

Fermin makes a sound, you can describe it as a surprised one. "Are you okay, Fer?" You ask, turning your head.

"Si," He clears his throat. "Continue, sorry."

"So guys, this foundation I told you about on a video." You show a random foundation. "This is liquid magic, and for the price? Can you believe that 750 euros can make you look so smooth and glowy?"

"Seven, what?" He says. "Wow."

You pretend you can't hear him. "And if you want a real deal, this powder from La Praire is on sale with the code D U M B." You spell the letters, trying to hold the laugh. "It will take 50 percent off. You only pay 979 with shipping included."

You can see on the screen how he's now turned all the way. "How is that a deal?" He asks.

"Because it is 50 percent off." You say, sounding obnoxious about it. "The first time I bought it, I paid 135 for the shipping. It comes all the way from Paris."

"For shipping?" He asks again. "Just the shipping?"

"Fer, it's a very expensive brand." He smiles.

"Oh my God." He says, grabbing his head. "You spend how much on a cream you mentioned?"

"Which one?" You ask. "The pink one, the blue one or the green one?"

"You only mentioned the pink and green one." He points out.

"True, the blue one is a very nice one. Use it to fill your pores and to smooth texture, it will cost you some money but you can work it amazingly."

"How much?" He asks, getting up from his place.

"5 thousand." You smile. "But if you use the code S T U P I D, you get a 5% discount."

"S T U-" He tries spelling. "Hey!"

You laugh, mistakingly throwing the blue cream fall on to the floor. You can't help but feel your stomach hurt for so much from the laughs.

"The cream!" He yells, trying to save it.

"Fermin! That cream is on sale at sephora, for fifteen euros." You laugh.

He looks at you confused, then at the cream, then at you, then at the cream again. "So, no expensive cream?"

"Amor, this is a prank!" You say, pointing at the phone that is still recording. "Say hi!"

He looks at you confused, "hi?"

"Anyways, love you, bye bye!"

🏷: @gadriezmannsgirl hi 😋❤️

By the way, some anons asked me if they could be on my tag list, and you can! Let me know if you want!

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girlgenius1111 · 4 months ago

Text

homesick

barcelona femeni x reader r is having a difficult time settling in with her new team in Barcelona. making friends with her teammates and being so far away from home is proving to be much more difficult than she expected. luckily, there are a lot of people around to help her. if she just lets them. angst to fluff <3 —

—

There was something you learned long ago, having moved across the world at such a young age for your career. Being alone sucked. But what was worse? Being surrounded by people and still feeling completely alone.

There was a level of disconnect between you and your teammates, something you didn’t blame them for. You were younger than the majority, only just 19. Spanish wasn’t your first language, though you had a good handle on it, you missed some of the nuances that came with being completely fluent in a language. Being introverted didn’t really help your case, because even the teammates closer in age to you were loud and outgoing, for the most part.

You were living your dream, thousands of miles away from home and from everyone you knew. You weren’t stupid or ungrateful enough to regret moving to Barcelona, but that didn’t make the day to day easier. It felt like your teammates didn’t like you, it was taking so long for you to adapt to the playing style of the team, and as every day passed, you felt worse and worse.

Why couldn’t you just figure it out? Why couldn’t you talk more, contribute to conversations? And when you did talk, why did you have to overthink every word you said? Why hadn’t you adjusted yet? Why did you long for a home across the world when you were living out the opportunity of a lifetime?

It didn’t matter that the coaching staff had been nothing but kind and encouraging, promising that it took time to get into the flow of the game, that everyone had to adjust. It didn’t matter that your teammates really seemed to be trying with you, it still felt like they were just being polite.

When it came down to it, you were doing your best, yet you were still struggling. You were all alone, with no clue how to pull yourself out of the slump you’d fallen into.

—

The first time Ingrid and Frido realized something might be going on with you was after a solid win away. Both of them made a point to get to know the new players, especially the non-spanish ones. They remembered what it was like arriving in Barcelona, not speaking a word of Spanish and trying to integrate into the team. And they hadn’t been nearly as young as you were now. They looked out for you, the quiet anxious girl that no one seemed to know very well. They made sure you were eating enough, made sure you called your mother and told the physios if you had any soreness anywhere.

Despite the win by several goals, you didn’t seem content. The team was lighthearted and carefree, and while you normally joined in with a small smile on your face, the only time you really let yourself be pulled into the team atmosphere being when the team was celebrating, this time you didn’t. You took a seat towards the front of the bus, curling up against the window and putting your headphones on.

It had been obvious to pretty much everyone that you were having a tough time adjusting, really feeling like the team was your team. It wasn’t for lack of trying on their part. The younger girls would try to pull you into conversations, but you always pulled back after a few minutes, your face going red after you’d spoken like you thought you’d say something wrong. You were playing well, considering you’d only been with the team for a few months, but you didn’t seem happy with your performance. Whenever anyone gave you a compliment, you politely thanked them, but it was clear you didn’t believe what they were telling you. When Ingrid and Frido, or any of the older girls for that matter, tried to check in on you, you were quick to assure them you were fine.

It had seemed pretty routine, though, up until this point. Everyone struggled when they joined Barça. They assumed you were just adjusting, but that you were having an entire crisis of confidence in yourself on top of terrible aching homesickness that lived in the back of your mind every minute of every day.

But something seemed wrong today. You weren’t just quiet, you were morose. Staring out the window with no music playing through your headphones, looking dangerously close to tears. It didn’t make sense to Ingrid or Frido, or any of the captains that also had their eye on you, because you’d had a good game.

Sure, you’d missed a few chances, but you’d also scored. Just looking at you, though, it seemed like you’d had the worst game of your life.

The chances you’d missed were playing on a loop in your brain. You’d been good at trying to keep yourself from dwelling on how much you were struggling until this point. Perhaps it was just too much today, or perhaps it was because you knew you were missing a family dinner that evening for your cousin’s birthday. Whatever it was, everything suddenly felt irreparably terrible.

You’d never make friends. You’d never integrate into the team. You’d never be the player you knew you could be. You’d be sent back home a failure, disappointing anyone who had ever believed in you. Your thoughts were a downward spiral as the bus started moving, so much so that you didn’t even realize you’d stopped moving until Ingrid was tapping you on the shoulder and telling you that you’d arrived back in the parking lot.

“Hey, you okay?” She asked gently. The Norwegian didn’t miss the way you whipped your head around, as if scared for anyone to think you weren’t okay. Luckily the rest of the bus was mostly empty, aside from Patri trying to drag a half asleep Claudia out of her seat.

“I’m fine!” You replied quickly, rising to your feet and slinging your bag over your shoulder. ��I’m fine. Sorry, I just spaced out.”

Ingrid didn’t move for a moment, blocking your exit entirely. She studied you, green eyes piercing right through your very soul.

“You don’t seem–”

“I’m okay, really.” You interrupted, inching closer until Ingrid got the message and moved out of your way with a sigh. “I’m tired, I want to get home.”

And with that, you made your escape, slipping past your teammate and rushing off the bus. To be fair, you were tired. Exhausted, actually. But you needed to be home within the next hour because your mother was going to call, and if you talked to her around anyone else, they’d see you cry after you hung up. The tears were inevitable, but you didn't have to let anyone see them.

—

Though you were unaware, you were somewhat of a topic of conversation among the older girls on the team in the days following that away match. Ingrid had filled in the captains, and there were more eyes on you at training. They saw things they’d missed before, mostly just the way you seemed tense all the time, the absurdly high standard you held yourself to. No one thought you were just adjusting, anymore. No, something deeper was going on, something that had you falling apart at the seams. The issue they found themselves facing was one that plagued you as well. Because you weren’t particularly close with anyone on the team, no one had any idea how to figure out what was wrong.

Ingrid had tried, to no avail. Alexia, with her stern captain voice and then the next day, with a softer approach. Esmee had tapped in then with Frido, but still. Nothing.

You insisted you were fine. Seemed guilty that anyone was even taking the time to ask you if you were okay, and then more guilty because they were making an effort and you had no idea how to respond. Your instinct was to shy away from anything your teammates offered but you weren’t sure why when you so deeply craved friendship.

Something you couldn’t escape, though, was team bonding. It was unspoken that events like this were mandatory, and normally you wouldn’t necessarily mind going. They were fun evenings, even if you felt like you basically watched them from the sidelines. Now, though, when it felt like everyone on the team was watching you, waiting for something, though you weren’t sure what… you’d never wanted to attend less.

In fact, you found yourself quite nervous as the evening approached. Training had been normal, or what passed for normal now with everyone seemingly watching your every move. At least 6 people had reminded you about dinner that evening; you couldn’t even pretend you forgot.

So, there you were. Squished in between Jana and Ona at the table of everyone’s favorite sushi place. It was a social overload, with everyone talking all at once. But you were doing fine, mostly. Jana and Ona both seemed to be making conscious efforts to bring you into conversations, which you pretended you didn’t notice. As the evening went on, it only got better. You relaxed more, letting yourself fall into conversation with Caro across the table. You felt you were being more.. you than you’d ever been in front of the team.

The admittedly long list of people Ingrid and Frido had recruited to keep an eye on you were all very thrilled to see you getting on so well. You laughed at Pina’s jokes, started speaking not just when you were spoken to. There was light in your eyes, joy on your face. And now that your teammates had seen you like this, how you should be most of the time, they couldn’t help but feel guilty for not noticing how unwell you were before.

But still. Progress was progress. And the evening could definitely be considered progress.

Until you glanced down at your phone, and saw a missed call from your Mom. It was well past the time you normally spoke to her, and you hadn’t realized. You were supposed to call her an hour ago, like you did every day, but you’d forgotten.

A million thoughts ran through your head in just a few short seconds, the most prominent of which being that you hadn’t forgotten or missed a call from your Mom since being here. Maybe it was pathetic, but talking to her was one of the only things that made you feel completely at ease in this new city. For a reason you couldn’t wholly justify, tears burned your eyes.

You’d forgotten to call. You’d missed her call.

A level of guilt you’d never before experienced overwhelmed you, because you’d basically ignored your Mom, and you’d never been more aware of how terrified you were to forget where you came from, forget your family and your friends, than you were in that moment.

Perhaps that was why you were terrified to let your guard down around your teammates; because settling in felt like forgetting, and forgetting didn’t seem fair. You barely registered mumbling something about needing to leave before your chair was scraping on the floor and you were out of there as fast as you could be.

You wanted to go home. Not the home in Barcelona, the apartment that didn’t quite feel like yours. But the home you’d grown up in. It was funny, because you’d spent so many years wanting to get out of there, and here you were. Living your dream, but you couldn’t stop thinking about home. It didn’t matter that you used to fight with your parents all the time, or that your siblings never left you alone. You’d take any amount of yelling, any amount of annoyance if you could just go home.

Much to your dismay, the door to the restaurant had barely shut behind you before you heard it swinging open again. There were fast footsteps, even as you sped up and tried to hurry to your car. Then, a hand wrapping around your wrist and softly tugging.

“Chica, wait a minute,” Jana called. You stopped, not turning around until Jana practically did it for you. Her face was full of concern and sympathy and it made your stomach twist. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” You tried to sound casual, calm, but your voice cracked. “Everything’s fine.”

Jana looked doubtfully at you, her fingers raking through her dark hair as she considered your words that were a complete contradiction to your appearance. You didn’t look fine at all. You looked like you were barely holding it together, and Jana wasn’t sure what had happened. Just moments ago, everything had been fine.

“If everything is fine, why are you rushing out like there’s a fire or something?”

You opened your mouth, trying to come up with an excuse. There were a million possibilities; your head hurt, you’d forgotten to blow out a candle, you’d forgotten a meeting with your agent. Anything. Anything would have been better than the truth, but for some reason, the truth seemed to be forcing its way out.

“I… I was supposed to call my Mom but I forgot.” You choked out.

Jana’s confusion didn’t fade, but she took a step closer, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Can’t you call her later?”

You shook your head rapidly, a few tears springing free and trailing down your cheeks. A gust of wind blew, a chill running down your spine, and for some reason, you thought about the big oak tree in your front yard at home. How the leaves would rustle in the wind when you used to climb up the trunk, and you’d feel so at peace, even 15 feet off the ground. Your chest ached, deeply. Painfully.

“No. I call her every day at the same time, so I have to call. I have to call.” You mumbled, waiting for Jana to laugh or tease you or something, though she’d never do that and you knew it. She didn’t even push, didn’t suggest you text your Mom to explain you were busy and say you’d call her later. Instead, Jana stepped even closer, her hands finding both of your shoulders.

“You miss her?” Jana asked gently. Her voice held an empathy and concern that shouldn't have surprised you. Everyone knew Jana was kind, but you were always surprised by how purely good someone so young was.

Biting your lip, you nodded, more tears escaping.

Jana gave you a somewhat sad smile before pulling you into a hug, squeezing tight and pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“I bet it’s so hard being so far away.”

“Yeah. It is.” You paused, hesitating. Something about standing there with Jana felt like you could say anything, could be honest and it would be okay. “It’s really lonely sometimes.”

Jana’s heart broke at the fractured sound of your voice, the way you clung onto her like you weren’t sure you’d stay standing if she let go. She hugged you tighter for a moment, before pulling back and giving you a reassuring smile.

“I bet it is. I’m sorry we haven’t tried harder to help you settle in.”

At this you shrugged, pretending her words didn’t hold any weight.

“ Okay, chica. Go home, call your Mama. You’ll feel better tomorrow, and if you need anything, you call me, okay? Anything.”

You appreciated the offer more than you could articulate. Jana wasn’t judging you for being homesick, didn’t feel like you were taking your spot with the team for granted. She hadn’t questioned the validity of the reason you were so upset. She was being a friend.

“Thank you, Jana. Really.”

“Of course!” Jana replied easily, giving your hand one last squeeze. “I’ll tell Ale you had a headache, and I’ll see you tomorrow at training.”

You nodded, smiling gratefully at the defender.

As you got into the car and started your journey home, you were more sure than ever that you’d been the problem the whole time. Resisting and pulling away from something you weren’t sure you could have, yet your teammates kept reaching out anyway. So afraid of rejection and being disliked that you didn’t let anyone get to know you in the first place.

—

Jana did not tell Ale you had a headache. No, she went back inside, mind racing with ways she could possibly help you, and was promptly ambushed by Ingrid, Frido, and Alexia. All three women were taller than her, suddenly staring down at her with half concerned, half frantic looks on their faces.

“Did you catch her?” Ingrid questioned.

Jana sighed, nodding her head. “Yeah. She had to go, she… forgot about something.”

“What? What did she forget?” Alexia wondered.

Jana hesitated. She wasn’t sure what the right thing to do here was. She did know, though, that Alexia always seemed to be able to help solve her problems. And Frido and Ingrid were so concerned. Jana didn’t want to break your trust, but she didn’t know how else to help you.

And more than anything, she really just wanted to help you.

—

Something was different the next day at training.

It began as soon as you walked into the locker room. Loud voices had echoed down the hall, all of them falling silent as you walked through the door. Countless pairs of eyes were on you, the room falling quieter than you’d ever heard it. A very heavy moment passed, before Alexia cleared her throat, and everyone fell back into their conversations. You couldn’t help but feel, though, that they’d been talking about you.

That feeling only intensified as you slipped into your training kit, pulling your top over your head to find Kika and Ona standing on either side of you. Though you often found it hard to break into conversations, there was no time that this rang truer than morning training sessions. You weren’t a morning person, and your brain simply refused to keep up with the fast paced spanish like it normally could. As a result, the time you spoke the least to your teammates was when you arrived in the morning.

“Hi?”

“Do you have plans after training?” Kika asked, a soft smile on her face. One that was almost too kind. Too… searching.

“I-”

“Wait! No! Ingrid and I were going to ask her to get coffee with us!” Frido cut in, appearing behind Kika and throwing an arm around the younger girl’s shoulders.

“Well you should have asked first,” Kika smirked, shoving the blonde away from her.

Ona nodded her head. “We’re going to lunch, you can see her tomorrow.”

You looked between the three of them, confusion evident on your face. None of them had ever made this much of an effort with you before, and it was suspicious to say the least. Also suspicious was the way half the team seemed to be stealing glances at you, waiting for you to agree to lunch or coffee or whatever you were about to be roped into.

You thought about earlier, how they’d all stopped talking when you walked in. You felt like there was some joke you weren’t in on, and it occurred to you that maybe… maybe the joke was you. The pieces didn’t exactly match up, yet you could feel the paranoia creeping in, the anxiety making your chest tighten.

“I… I have plans this afternoon, but another time.” You stuttered, giving your teammates a half smile as you turned back to your cubby and worked on pulling your hair up. It wasn’t exactly a lie; you’d planned to go to a cafe and read that afternoon. You’d had a rather long and tearful call with your Mom the night before, and she’s suggested you try to get out of the house today, to get your mind off things.

You didn’t think about the fact that she would absolutely tell you to go spend time with your teammates if the opportunity presented itself. While you normally would have been excited about the opportunity to spend time with some of them, something felt so off about this. Artificial.

“Okay! Tomorrow then.” Kika declared, squeezing your shoulder and walking off.

You sat on the bench to put your boots on, pretending you didn’t notice Frido and Ona still lingering by you. Pretended you didn’t notice that Patri was speaking quietly to Pina and Vicky, their eyes all trained on you. Pretended you couldn’t tell that something was going on, and it most definitely had something to do with you.

—

Everyone was watching you. Everyone was talking to each other and looking at you, checking in with you, asking about your morning, what you’d had for breakfast, what your plans were for the afternoon. It was too much, too suddenly.

Your mind kept flitting to the moment you’d walked into the locker room earlier, the almost guilty looks on everyone’s faces as they all stopped talking. They’d been talking about you, you were sure of it now. And whatever they’d been saying, they didn’t want you to hear.

As training dragged on, and the attention on you didn’t waver for a second, you began to spiral.

Were they… making fun of you? Logically, you knew the chances of that were very low, but your anxiety was drowning out the logic quickly.

Maybe they really didn’t like you, had all been discussing it when you’d walked in. Maybe the guilt had kicked in, then, and they were trying to overcompensate.

It felt suffocating, the weight of everyone’s attention, the pressure to perform perfectly in training and answer everyone's constant questions. It was odd, that for so many weeks now you’d just been wishing for your teammates to notice you, to make an effort but now that it was happening, you were terrified. It couldn’t be genuine, couldn’t be real. They just felt bad for not liking you, probably. Or maybe one of the captains was making them be nice to you.

It was as if your body was rejecting the attention, your panic building and building until it was all you could do to run through the drills and not collapse onto the ground.

There was only an hour or so left of training, but you weren’t sure you could make it. Every one of your senses felt heightened. Every voice and glance in your direction felt like an attack on your nervous system and you wanted more than anything for everyone to just stop.

Stop whatever they were doing, whether that be a joke or pity or something else. Stop looking at you, stop talking to you with an undertone of pity and concern. You just needed it all to stop.

“Are you alright?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, the water bottle you were clutching tight in your hands falling to the ground. Ingrid had wandered over during a water break, and you’d been too caught up in the spiral of your own thoughts to notice. The brunette was gazing at you, her cheeks flushed from the heat but her green eyes clear and full of worry.

“Ye-yeah, I’m fine.” You replied, willing Ingrid to go away before anyone looked over and noticed what she was clearly seeing; you were very far from okay. It was too late for that, though, Irene appearing on your other side, her hand pressing to your forehead as she studied your face. It felt so similar to when your Mom would check you for a fever, you choked on your own breath, pain ripping through you.

“You look unwell, are you having a bit of heat stroke? Sit down, let me–” Irene was talking, but you barely heard any of it.

“–I’m fine, I just need… need to go. I have to go, I’m sorry.”

You wrenched yourself away from Ingrid and Irene’s hands, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste to get away. The shared locker room was probably the least logical place to go to escape your teammates, yet that was where you found yourself, mind in overdrive as you began to pace back and forth.

You didn’t want to be the butt of the joke or the group charity project. You didn’t want people to pity you, you didn’t want to be coddled or watched over. You just wanted to be normal, like the rest of your teammates.

You couldn’t do this any longer. It was too hard, being here was too hard. You wanted to go home, more than anything in the world. You wanted your Mom, your dog, your bedroom, and the safety of being with the people you loved.

Hands found your shoulders, interrupting your pacing. You looked up, tears streaming down your face, finding Alexia looking at you with so much concern, it made your stomach twist.

“What’s going on, chica?” Alexia asked gently.

You broke, a small whimper falling from your lips as you exhaled, everything you were feeling and thinking coming pouring out of you like a tidal wave you couldn’t control.

“I-everyone is being so weird and you were all talking about me this morning and no one will leave me alone and you’re all staring at me and I don’t know what I did wrong, I don’t know what to do, I just want to go home. I just want to go home, I can’t do this anymore,”

Strong arms were wrapping around your trembling form a half a second later, and as much you’d deny it happened to anyone who asked afterwards, you found yourself sobbing into your captain’s training kit. Alexia shushed you gently, steady even as you fell apart.

“It’s okay, chica. You’re okay. Just let it out.” Alexia murmured, carefully steering you over to the bench and guiding you to sit down on it. Her arms didn’t release you, not as you sat down and not for the next few minutes as you cried yourself out. Eventually, you pulled it together enough to lean away from your captain and wipe at your face with your shirt.

Wordlessly, Alexia handed you a water bottle, one hand still resting on your back. The touch felt remarkably comforting, and you already felt better, already realized you’d let your anxiety get the better of you and overreacted. But then, Alexia broke the silence.

“We were.” She admitted, reaching out to help you unscrew the cap of the water bottle when your hands proved to be shaking too hard to do so yourself. You looked at her questioningly, and she sighed, a guilty look flashing across her face. “We were talking about you when you walked in.”

Your stomach dropped, the color draining out of your face. You’d hoped that you were just being crazy and anxious and paranoid, but no, they did hate you, they all hated you and–

“Nothing bad, though. We were just worried. Jana… Jana told me what happened yesterday, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay, that you had the support you needed. I didn’t want you to feel alone.”

The words were everything you should have wanted to hear, yet you couldn’t move past the first thing she’d said. Jana had told her what you’d said.

“I realize we haven’t made enough of an effort to incorporate you into the team, and that is our fault. It’s always hard when someone first gets here, and we thought you were just adjusting, we didn’t realize you were having such a hard time.”

If you’d known Alexia better, you’d have realized she was rambling, scrambling to try to justify everyone’s actions. As it was, you didn’t even really process what she was saying, feeling humiliation wash over you instead.

It had been pity that fueled them, yet still, they’d made an effort. You couldn’t decide if that made it better or not. You couldn’t decide how you felt about any of this.

“It’s normal to feel homesick, chica. Very normal. You are so far from everything you have ever known, of course that is going to be hard. We should have noticed, and we should have done more to help you adjust.”

She was speaking so earnestly, you couldn’t help but thaw a little.

“I’m not… I’m not some pathetic person everyone needs to feel bad for and–”

“No. No one sees you like that.” Alexia insisted. “You are our teammate, and we take care of our own. We should have been doing more for you.”

At this, you averted your eyes, shrugging and inhaling deeply. She wasn’t… wrong. And she spoke with such conviction that you kind of believed her, that your teammates really cared about you, and didn't just feel bad for you.

“You are so mature, I forget how young you are sometimes. But us especially, the captains, we should have been looking out for you. I’m sorry about that, chica. Can you forgive me?”

And, well, what were you supposed to say to that?

“Yeah.” You agreed, clearing your throat when the word came out raspy and broken. “Yeah, I can.”

Alexia studied you for a moment, a contemplative expression on her face. “You forgive too easily.” She said finally. “But I am glad, because Jana has been having a nervous breakdown about telling us what you said, even though she was just worried. I can’t take another Jana breakdown, chica, I really cannot.”

You laughed at this, a genuine laugh that made your captain grin and ruffle your hair.

Alexia stood, extending her hand out to you. “Back to training? Or do you need the afternoon?”

Her voice was free of any judgment, and you could tell that whichever option you chose would genuinely be okay. But you also knew yourself, and if you left now, you’d just be more nervous tomorrow to come in. Putting off the anxiety inducing situation would only make it worse. So though you’d run off in tears like a child, you nodded, grabbing Alexia’s hand and standing up.

“As long as everyone stops staring at me.”

“Done.”

—

It wasn’t a quick fix, by any means. But it was the little things that changed, and those seemed to make the biggest difference. It began that very day, when you walked back out to the pitch with Alexia. Everyone was staring, but trying to pretend they weren’t, until Alexia whistled and raised her voice.

“Oye! Be normal. Now.” She shouted. It was as if a switch flipped, and the general energy within the team relaxed instantly. You hadn’t been the only one tense, you realized.

Later, Jana caught you as you were heading back into the locker room, looking genuinely distressed.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything to anyone about what you told me, I just–”

“It’s okay.” You interrupted. You figured there wasn’t a better place to start with fitting in better than forgiving. “You were just worried, Ale told me.”

Relief broke out across Jana’s face and she exhaled sharply, yanking you into a tight hug.

“Thank you, chica.”

With Jana forgiven, with the team acting more normally, you could actually enjoy watching your teammates fall over themselves to do something with you. Whether it was driving you to training, or getting lunch or coffee with you. Making christmas cookies or going on a hike.

The offers didn’t feel empty anymore. They hadn’t been, the whole time, but only now could you see that. Your teammates wanted to get to know you, you just had to let them. And as you let them, as your teammates became friends, your homesickness faded. Not entirely, of course not. There were still moments you wanted nothing more than to get on a plane and fly home and never look back. There were still moments you cried, still days that felt heavy and terrifying. But you weren’t alone in these moments anymore; or really, you’d never been.

It was a funny thing, how two problems you’d kept separate in your head were really so intertwined. There wasn’t as much room to be homesick when you were having fun with your friends. And even when you were still homesick, there was always someone there ready to listen and give you a hug. Always. And you found that made all the difference in the world.

—

hope you enjoyed :)

also i feel like im missing something from this but i can't put my finger on what it is? so... making the very rare statement that i would not be opposed to one shot requests in this universe :)

#woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #barça femeni x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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kashverse · 4 months ago

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make sure to check on your cats today :) + kunafamily lore masterlist ( find out more about mr. pickles! )

there is a certain forlornness with which mr. pickles accepts his fate every week. a certain resignation that only comes with the wisdom of age and the knowledge that some battles are simply not worth fighting.

this, of course, being one of them.

the doctor had said it. "he needs to stay active." as if the great and noble mr. pickles, the aged maine coon of the sukuna household, had not already lived a full and accomplished life. as if he had any need to exercise when he had perfected the art of lounging in sunspots and judging those around him with a quiet dignity. but alas. the doctor had spoken, and worse yet—babykuna had heard.

so here he was, walking. if you could call it that.

babykuna, his little ruler, had taken it upon herself to ensure he got his weekly dose of physical activity. and by "activity," what she really meant was a leisurely tour of the penthouse estate, a small, chubby hand resting atop his thick fur as she walked beside him, telling him all about her day. mr. pickles, in his infinite wisdom, had long since accepted his fate. and so he trudged beside her, his massive paws making soft thuds against the pristine floors, his long, regal tail flicking ever so slightly with each step.

"...and then she said my labubu was the wrong color, but she doesn’t even know what a labubu is," babykuna huffed, clearly offended on behalf of her artistic integrity.

mr. pickles exhaled. a slow, deep sigh of understanding.

"so i told her, 'you don’t even know what you’re talking about,’ and she said i don’t know what i’m talking about, but i do, mr. pickles. i really do."

he did not doubt her.

as they made their way past the grand living area, mr. pickles decided that this was enough. he had walked. he had moved. and now, it was time to rest. with all the grace of a battle-worn warrior laying down his sword, he flopped. babykuna, already familiar with this routine, did not falter. instead, she gently rested against him, her tiny body curled against his thick fur. "you’re a good listener, mr. pickles," she murmured, voice softer now.

mr. pickles let out a long, tired huff. he supposed, if he had to exercise, this wasn’t the worst way to do it.

#@sukuna #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x y/n #jjk crack #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen crack

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caliburn-the-sword · 4 months ago

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hey pals, i actually REALLY don't like the dragon games lineup

like... this is just so random. it doesn't fit. i don't like this. if ever after high didn't solely exist to market dolls, these are the students that i can see playing in the dragon games. but first, i wanna start with an explanation of why i'm removing who i'm removing from the lineup

the wonderlandians: i'm gonna be so fr, if scott morrison came to my hs and was like "yo guys i'm starting a basketball team" i am NOT joining that shit. and bro wasn't even incarcerated for poisoning the other country i have citizenship in OR idk stealing some other lady's job. he's just a prime minister that i don't really like. and i'm not a refugee. the wonderlandians on the other hand... yikes. they would NOT have played dragonball with the evil queen

the o'hair twins: now first of all, holly has expressed nothing but wanting to follow her destiny, which very much includes damselling and distressing. plus that hair is a fire hazard ;-; as for poppy, when i first watched dragon games i deadass thought that the twins ONLY got armour because they were just modelling what everyone else would get, and they wouldn't take part. especially because i think she'd be more concerned with maintaining the integrity of the armour and doing routine checks just making sure that a piece of equipment wouldn't become faulty and responsible for one of her friends or classmates getting injured

melody piper: what do you MEAN that this girl isn't emceeing the event?? she was born for that

who would actually play:

raven queen, for the exact reasons in the show

apple white, but only because the evil queen blackmails her

now, an argument could be made against darling charming, since she'd been working so hard before this point to maintain the whole "damsel in distress" thing she had going on since her parents were legacy book-thumping royals, however i think she would've been able to make the case to them "well daring is gonna marry apple one day so i think it's good for me to start getting along with snow white now since she's his future mother in law", plus everyone practically worships snow white

daring charming. bro has a DRAGON RIDING LICENSE. yet he wasn't on the field lmao

cerise hood. girlie is canonically a jock. she would live for dragon games. all she'd need to do is pin her hood to her hairline and she'd be fine

briar beauty because she's literally an adrenaline junkie. it's honestly more surprising that she WASN'T the first one to sign up. like make it make sense

i can see jillian beanstalk also joining since she's got that big ol sense of adventure

now, last spot is a bit of a tossup. i could probably see hopper croakington joining just to try to impress briar, or sparrow because it's "rock 'n roll". i'm leaning towards hopper slightly more since sparrow's whole thing is "i look out for the number one: me" or whatever and he's probably more afraid of dying than like. looking cool. especially because i actually don't think he does any hero classes or anything (just going off memory)

#please forgive me if i did not remember your favourite side character who absolutely would. i forgor #eah #ever after high #raven queen #apple white #darling charming #daring charming #cerise hood #briar beauty #jillian beanstalk #dragon games

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vin-taege · 1 year ago

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Could you do headcannons for both sfw and nsfw showering with Chishiya? :3

The Water's Just Right

Summary: Showering headcanons for our favorite snarky boy

Genre: fluff, smut, gn! reader

Note: Oh yeah, I'm back again! I've been gone for so long because of college, but I'm here again to revive the aib fandom >:3 also my first time writing headcannons. :DDD I think I got carried away sjjsjs

☄. *. ⋆ sfw

ok let's start with headcannons for the real world

as a doctor, he mainly takes quick showers

contrary to popular belief, i feel like he enjoys hot showers over cold ones. like he's already going to be stressed because of work, so might as well have at least one part of his day be a little relaxing

the only time you can take joint showers with him is during his off-days or if you stay up long enough to catch him coming home

he doesn't like it when you do the latter option because he firmly believes you should take care of yourself and sleep early

even though he runs on 3 hours of sleep maximum every day

he lets you wash his hair after initially (and weakly) refusing

you definitely use scented shampoo on him (strawberry because he thinks floral scents are too strong)

he prefers subtle scents because the hospital is already filled with strong odors.

he'll never admit he likes it when you wash his hair, especially when you massage his scalp

"did you purr a little?"

"I think you need your hearing checked."

loves it when you run your hands up and down his back

you mainly use showering as an excuse to dote on him

likes kissing your neck while you attempt to lather soap on him

random but he installed a non-slip mat on the floor because he doesn't want the two of you to get into any accidents

likes playing with your hair by gathering soap bubbles and dumping them on you

you don't point this out because you're scared he'll withdraw from letting himself be a kid for once

sometimes when it's been a rough day, he lets you hold him in the shower for a moment

just letting the warm water wash away his stress while he melts into your arms

he used to skip lotion until you started putting it on him

he got used to it after that and subconsciously started integrating it into his routine

honestly before you came along, had the worst skincare routine ever

"That's... that's not how you put on facial wash. You need to wash your face with it for at least a minute."

"I'm not a dermatologist, y/n."

"You don't need to be to know that???"

In the borderlands, it's basically the same but without the luxury of proper skin products.

always ALWAYS showers after games

he hates the ick from going outside and keeps himself sane by maintaining cleanliness

surprisingly, he's more forward with asking you to join him

in the real world, you're the one who always asks for permission, but now he always looks for your presence

especially since he knows you could be gone any day

"Do you want to join me?"

"Didn't the heater system break down?"

"I fixed ours. The water's just right."

☄. *. ⋆ nsfw

remember that non-slip mat?

oh yeah, that was definitely for this occasion

he doesn't like lifting you up because again, safety first

prefers standing positions where he can press you up against the wall.

LOVES LOVES LOVES FOGGING UP THE GLASS

he doesn't pull your hair because he knows it'll be prone to breakage

he's such a nerd about bodily care except for when it comes to himself.

holds your neck instead and uses it as leverage to pound into you

either that or he digs his fingers into your hips so he can grind his cock inside you.

makes it his goal to make you squirt at least once

OK THIS IS MY PERSONAL HEADCANNON

it may be because of the tight space, or the bathroom acoustics, or the added privacy

but this man is definitely louder in the shower

you love sucking him off because of this

deep moaning, swearing, whimpering when you're being a little shit and you overstimulate him

plays with your chest a lot because he likes how slippery the soap makes it

LISTEN

also installed a detachable showerhead ;)))

#alice in borderland imagines #aib headcanons #chishiya headcanons #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #aib chishiya #aib imagines #imawa no kuni no alice #alice in borderland x reader #alice in borderland #chishiya imagine #aib x reader #chishiya shuntaro x reader #asks #requested

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jarofstyles · 6 months ago

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The Favor 12

It’s been 800 years and I’m sorry 😭 now that we reached this point inspo has come and gone so fast. But I got this part done and the next one on Patreon now! I would love to hear thoughts and suggestions, I’ve already implemented some of what you guys have asked for in my planned parts 🩷 enjoy! And happy holidays

Previous part

Check out our Patreon for early access to part 13 and 220+ exclusive writings

WC- 6.6k

Warnings- mentions of a Dom/sub dynamic, anxiety mention, misogyny, we hate Danny club tee shirts being passed around, tooth rotting fluff, mentions of relationship trauma

Danny hadn’t always been a bad boyfriend.

At first he had been kind and sweet. With him being a tad bit more outgoing than Y/N, he had brought her into his friend group and integrated her as one of them. He had brought her flowers for their 6 month anniversary, they went on dates on the weekends twice a month, and it was nice. Solid, steady.

Until he got a little too comfortable.

Y/N could see it now that she had removed her heart from the equation. Danny was lazy, and it had shown more and more as the year mark hit, and then two years, and she had to remind him of Valentine’s Day, make the birthday plans, schedule the dates, or go along with the plans he’d made with his friends. He would get her gifts on those occasions, yes, but the most stereotypical things. It had lacked thought. Flowers and chocolates on Valentine’s Day were nice! She didn’t want to come across as ungrateful ever- but when he’d gotten her dark chocolate when he should have known she really disliked it, it made it a little less sweet- pun intended.

If someone were to ask Y/N why she stayed so long, she wouldn’t have one singular answer. Comfort? Familiarity? Routine? Perhaps lack of self esteem? She wasn’t sure. Being raised to think you had a specific way of doing things, of dating, engagement, then marriage, she hadn’t really been given many other examples. Growing up, her parents had been high school sweethearts, as had both of their parents. There was no breaking up, it was a one and done type of deal.

She wasn’t sure if that was set in stone, though. It was an unspoken rule, something left unsaid like a thinly veiled threat in the night air. They spoke of the great love story of finding your one and only and it made her feel like she had to stick to that too. She’d never asked her mother about it, because she never really entertained the idea of having any other partner.

It was easy with Danny in the way that she knew what to expect. She knew his habits, she knew his work, his schedule. She knew his friends, his plans for life, there were no surprises. Nothing that would jump back out and bite her, catch her off guard as he slowly leaned into being less attentive.&

Maybe that’s why even when she started having doubts she had stuck them to the back of her mind.

There was no denying that Harry had been a very, very big part in all of it. The funny part of it was, she wasn’t sure that the sex bit was what truly got her to reconsider even if it had started it all. As incredible, euphoric as she felt- it was the way she felt afterwards. Before, even. When they sat in his bed and he stroked her cheek, feeding her cubes of cantaloupe or strawberries sliced in half, or when he’d picked up a carton of her yogurt and granola after mentioning what she usually had for breakfast at home.

It was how gentle he handled her not only physically, but emotionally. He checked in, he cared, he asked her multiple times what she liked and what she didn’t. If it was okay to touch her certain ways, if he could kiss her. Just little things that seemed so minuscule in size if you looked at it from the outside but felt so big to her that it tore at her heart.

He’d gotten her that damn water bottle, he’d gotten used to washing her hair when they shared showered, he used that tender tone of voice that had her bones feeling flexible as she melded into him each and every time.

And another thing she had found to like about Harry, was the fact that he was just… dominant in most regards.

It wasn’t overly so. He wasn’t this complete alpha, macho man, fists banging on the chest sort of guy. He didn’t walk into the room and demand to be the biggest and baddest in the room. It was understated, quiet. If you looked at him you could just… see. Feel it. You could see he held it together well, that he liked control in the way he kept things organized and held eye contact regardless of who it was. He very rarely shied away from a situation. In fact, Y/N felt very special for being one of the only people she had seen make him blush or get flustered.

It was second nature to him to just do. To pick up where she left off. So it did make her wonder what else she could do for him. How she could help him relieve stress. Yes, there was the sexual aspect that she was more than willing to hand over whenever he wanted (no exaggeration- any time, any place) but she wanted to be the person he allowed himself to loosen up with.

She’d seen glimpses. Silliness and joking, that sort of tenderness that he didn’t seem to give to anyone else, but she wanted to make his life easier. Researching the dynamics between dominants and submissives, she had some questions- but the first thing she needed to do was cut off the dead weight- the only thing holding them back.

—-

Meeting at the park was a good idea. She could tell by his face that he had a clue what was going to happen and as much as she tried not to, she did feel a tiny sliver of guilt.

Y/N didn’t necessarily cheat, no. She’d had full permission, ecstatic permission, actually. He’d handed her over to Harry. Being realistic she knew he didn’t realize it would be an option that he wouldn’t get her back. Danny was headstrong in a way she found a lot of men were. He didn’t consider the possibility that she actually did know what she wanted and once she had a taste, she would want that for herself all the time.

“You’re leaving me for him.”

“Not necessarily.” She sighed, crossing her arms around her body. “It isn’t just about him. It’s about the fact that we aren’t compatible anymore, and we haven’t been in a long time.”

Danny scoffed, tilting his head towards the sky. “So, what? I’m nice? I let you go and see and play around to explore that shit and now you’ve gotten addicted to that sort of stuff? We can get you to therapy, because it isn’t healthy. But obviously it was a mistake to hand you off to him-“

“Yes. If you loved me, if you truly wanted me, Daniel- you’d never, ever want someone else to touch me.” She remembered how Harry had said he didn’t want to share her. Look, sure. But never touch. “You said the shit I’m into is weird, you shame me, then pawn me off to your friend which… it’s dangerous. The both of us are lucky Harry is genuinely an amazing guy-“ she shot him a look as he let out a noise but continued anyways. “Harry is amazing and kept me safe. He taught me the safe ways of doing things. And I liked it. I’m not going to lie to you, I really liked all of it and I know you aren’t into it.” For once, her face softened.

“And you don’t have to be. I don’t judge you for not wanting to do it. I never have. I was upset by your reactions and how you made me feel bad, but I would never ask you to do something you truly aren’t comfortable with. But if this is something I want, something I find myself needing to be fulfilled, I’m not going to try to change you or myself to try and salvage a relationship that was barely working anyways.”

“Barely working?” Danny looked genuinely confused. “The fuck are you talking about.” Again, her anger bubbled under the surface, but the exhaustion of the whole thing kept her from exploding.

“Danny, you barely gave me attention. When you apologized the first time and we went out to the bar, you brushed me off the whole time. You treated me like an accessory. There was no passion to our relationship.” Y/N wasn’t sure how he didn’t see that. “We had the same conversations every day, barely had any excitement. I don’t think you loved me- I think I was convenient. And I don’t hold that against you either, but I think I was convenient to you.”

“That’s just how relationships are! They even out and get a little boring.” He defended, nostrils flaring as he was obviously offended with her observation. She had a feeling he would get that way. It was just another reason why they needed to end things.

“To a degree. After years of marriage and things settle down, your partner is supposed to become your best friend. And we barely speak to each other if it isn’t about plans, or something you want to. If I feel like talking about something I can physically see you tune me out. This was happening far before you even handed me off to Harry.”

“And he’s going to give you that?” He sneered, looking at her like she was some sort of idiot. It had been very clear since the beginning that Danny really did put people into boxes, and Harry was in the sexual deviant one. He had no ability to see the depth in people and that had always been something that bothered her about him, but seeing it now towards someone she was falling for made her angry.

“I don’t know.” She snapped. “But regardless if it is him or not, you need to stop that. You just… you learn something about someone and you completely disregard them as people. You knew he was into some different stuff and all of a sudden he’s a whore, some kind of sexual deviant that can’t commit. He’s had partners, long term. He’s caring. He’s kind. He listens to what I have to say. It isn’t just sex every time I go over to his place, you understand that right?”

He didn’t, obviously, but the way his brows pulled together and he looked at her like he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Did you expect him to string me up and hit me with a paddle a few times and me to run back to you?” She was positive that was the thought process as it was as soon as she saw the face he made. “We bond. We make breakfast or go out for it, we watch shows, we take his dog on a walk- the dynamic of this whole thing goes far past just sex, Danny. It’s trust. I know you did minimal research into what this actually is, but I’m telling you that we weren’t just going at it like bunnies. I’m not hypnotized by his dick. He’s so nice to me, and he listens, and he….” Y/N could feel herself getting emotional, so she had to reign it in. He didn’t need this sort of response from her.

“Listen. I’m sorry. I know we had plans, but they’re not for me anymore. I have no idea if Harry wants to actually date me or not. I have no clue where my life is going, but I just don’t see us being together anymore.”

——

It was a bit anticlimactic. Danny couldn’t really argue with her, (even if he did try a few times). Not when it was so abundantly clear her mind was made up. It was over. Regardless of what he thought about Harry or her sexual preferences or anything she liked, it was her opinion that mattered. She’d been coasting for so long that she had forgotten how it felt to actually be behind the wheel. As terrifying as it was to navigate- it felt good.

“A mixed box, please.” Y/N politely asked the worker at the donut shop, knowing Harry was a bit of a fiend for a donut with his coffee. “An extra chocolate though, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course! Half or whole dozen?”

“Whole, please.”

She checked her phone to see a text waiting from him, her mood lightening immediately as her eyes traced over the screen.

H: You alright, sweetheart? Please text me when you’re on your way here x.

H: p.s. I miss you a little.

Her heart felt like it grew too big for her chest as she took a shaky inhale, thumbing over the keyboard to reply to the man. It had been ages since she had gotten giddy over a man texting her, Harry being the first one since she’d left school honestly. It wasn’t that she wanted to constantly compare her past relationship with him, but it was hard not to when everything felt so much better.

Y/N: hiiii ❤️ I’m good. I made a stop but as soon as I’m done here I’ll be on my way. Maybe 20?

Y/N: p.s. I miss you a little bit too

Tucking her phone back in her pocket, she thanked the girl and checked out at the register, tapping her card before taking the box and walking back out to her car.

She was a single woman, now. Sort of? That was sort of a mystery. She was Harry’s. The fact was clear both in her heart and the bruises sucked over the swell of her breast, also coincidentally over her heart. The question laid in his hands, if they were an actual item or not. He’d proclaimed she was his what seemed to be a million times but how far did that go?

It wasn’t like she was dumb- she knew there were feelings in both ends. Men didn’t act like that unless they were actually wanting you. She knew she wasn’t completely naive for feeling somewhat confident that Harry would want her, but it was the question of in what way. As a submissive? As a girlfriend? That question would be asked tonight, but right now she really just needed a hug.

There was no need to knock anymore as she scales the porch steps and approached the door, instead punching in the code to his security system and pushing the door open. The clicking of nails alerted her to Buttons before she even saw the pup, eagerly running towards her with a happy yip.

“Hello, my darling.” She cooed, hanging her purse up on the hook and toed her shoes off. “These are not for you, M’sorry. We can get you a treat though. Where’s daddy, hm?”

“Kitchen!” He called through the house, making her smile widen. She could smell coffee, the dark roast permeating the air as she padded towards the room. It was one of the best times of day to be in the room, sunlight pouring through the wide windows. Even better to frame him as he leaned against the island, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

He was always beautiful, but seeing him in this light- literally and metaphorically- had her tummy swirling. His hair fluffy from the shower this morning and pushed off his head, the facial hair he had let grow because she said she liked it, the tee shirt tucked into linen pants, all of it was enticing. It felt more intense now that there was no real barrier holding her back from allowing her to think those sorts of things about him.

“Excuse me, miss? What’s in that box?” His voice tilted as his smile grew, looking at the familiar pink box.

“You know what’s in the box.” She hummed, placing it down next to him. “It’s where I stopped. I’m sorry to say I broke into them and ate a chocolate one on the drive here, but there’s 11 others in there for you to choose from.”

“How will I ever forgive you.” His eyes rolled as he uncrossed his arms and pulled her into them, seeming to know what she needed before she could even utter a word about it. He knew what she went to do and while it was exciting, he knew she had been slightly anxious about the reaction. “You alright, darling? Seriously?”

Y/N wasn’t sure if it was being in the safety of his arms and realizing that he was the only one she felt this safe with, if it was the slight exhaustion from not being able to sleep well, or the emotion of letting go of something that had once felt like her life, but she felt the wall hit her. Nodding into his chest, she stayed buried there as the tears bubbled over her lashline.

“Oh, Angel. M’sorry. That’s a dumb question.”’he sighed, curling his hand around the back of her head and gently running his fingers through her hair. “I know. S’been a lot, the last few weeks. But you’re safe here, yeah? We don’t have to talk about it, or we can. It’s up to you.”

She knew he did want to. He wouldn’t press her because he was a good man and he was considerate of her feelings, but he wanted to know what happened and considering the entirety of this, she wanted to. It just… needed to be in a minute. Arms wrapped around his form as she took in unsteady breaths, trying to calm herself down. It was easier said than done when he felt like the lifeline now, but she didn’t want to cry over it.

“We can.” She gave a watery laugh as she turned her cheek to rest on him, letting herself breathe properly instead of keeping herself shoved against his body. “I’m not upset because we broke up. I-I don’t really care about that, actually. I’m glad. He didn’t take it well but he also didn’t throw a tantrum. It just upset me because I was seeing him for one of the first times as who he was instead of m-making excuses and I felt a little dumb for staying for so long.” It was embarrassing.

Harry knew she wasn’t done so he didn’t interrupt, continuing the soothing strokes as she stayed leaning against him. “He puts people in boxes. Like he… he thought you were one dimensional and so was I. Thought that I didn’t actually know what I w-wanted, and that we were just fucking this whole time. Couldn’t believe that we were actually bonding and that you could possibly like me, or vice versa, outside a bedroom.” Her scoff made him chuckle just a bit, leaning his head down to kiss the top of hers, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

“And it really hit me how he couldn’t fathom that you have feelings that go past sexual deviancy or that I actually know what I want and I wasn’t just addicted to sex or something. Did you know he used to get me chocolates for Valentine’s Day but he’d get dark, and I hate dark chocolate.” She sniffled. “Or he’d make me plan stuff because I was ‘better’ at it. I just felt in charge of everything except plans with his friends, unless it had to do with getting a gift for a wedding or baby shower or birthday. Then I could handle it because… I don’t know. I was leading the whole thing and I wasn’t getting anything in return and I’m just now realizing how shitty I felt the whole time. I think I just coasted the whole time b-because my family did the whole high school or college sweetheart things and I felt like I needed to, too.”

It made a lot of sense to him, now, why she felt she needed this. The dynamic. Naturally submissive, he knew, but being forced to take the role that she didn’t want for the sake of a relationship she was trying to keep afloat merely because she felt a responsibility? His poor fucking girl.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I know it isn’t exactly the sort of thing you want to hear and it won’t make it better, but I’m sorry. It hurt you, it made you feel under appreciated and taken for granted. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

It wouldn’t make a difference now but he wished he had met her first. Met her before Danny had gotten to her and been able to snatch her up, give her the sort of attention she properly needed, take care of her the way she had always been craving. For someone who didn’t naturally have that sort of instinct he had to imagine it was exhausting. Harry took pride in being the planner, the provider. He liked being in charge and knowing what was happening, making things easy and smooth. But for Y/N who already didn’t want to be doing it, he knew it had to have felt like she was trapped.

“M’never going to make you do those things.” He murmured. “Not if you don’t want to. I don’t… it isn’t something that I’d ever want you to do if you didn’t want to. There is no right or wrong way to have a relationship, but the burden shouldn’t fall on only one person if they don’t want it to.” He smeared his lips in a ring of kisses around her hairline. “I know you don’t need me t’tell you that how you were treated wasn’t right, but I hope you know that you can tell me if you ever feel that way. If you… if you don’t want to do something, you don’t have to.” There was a pause. “When we’re not playing.”

“I was gonna hold you to that.” She laughed against him, pulling her head back to look at him. “So, um.. I didn’t want to assume anything, but I’m gonna now and think that you want to.. that you like me enough to keep me around?”

Harry looked at her for a few moments before shutting his eyes, dropping his head to rest on hers. “If I hadn’t made it clear before, I think M’gonna make it even clearer now.”

Y/N didn’t have a chance to breathe before he scooped her up to sit her in the counter, their lips fused together in a kiss she hadn’t fully felt before. Something he had held back, it lingered under it all as she easily melted into him. It felt different, like a barrier had fallen off with the way he handled her. It was still delicate, still tender, but there was no hint of hesitancy in the way he led the kisses, smoothing his thumbs over her cheeks as he cupped her face in those massive hands she loved so much. Unhurried, unrestrained but no sense of urgency.

Like he knew now he didn’t have to rush, that he had more time to prove to her that he meant every unspoken word he poured into this.

The slight salt of her tears reminded him to pull back, to pace himself. Oddly enough, he had no urge to have sex right now. Everything was soft. Silky. Lovelaced and sweet, hinted with the motivation to give her the relationship that she deserved. It meant he’d have to ask her what she would want, but right now he just wanted to bask in the feeling of her in his palms and the warm sun and sugary donuts in the box and the strong coffee finishing its brew across the kitchen.

“Hi.” He smiled lightly as he pulled back, eyes hooded as he watched hers peel open to meet his own. Her lips were bare of anything but chapstick he had faint taste of- strawberry, he was positive of it- and slightly puffy from the kiss that had gone on for a bit longer than they should have been able to breathe.

“Hi.” Her voice was a peep as the shyness took over her face, but Harry didn’t let her move from it. As much as she wanted to burrow back into his chest, he kept her chin up. The energy was palpable, giddiness rocking his belly as he tugged her lip from her teeth. No biting of lips near him, not right now. Even if it was cute.

There was a lot to speak about in regards to them as a pairing, but he wanted to soak in this warmth for a bit before getting down to the gritty bit of it. The girl had brought him his favorite sweets, and he wanted to enjoy them with her.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“Tea, please.”

—

Harry hadn’t been positive Y/N would go through with it.

That wasn’t a fault or doubt of her person, not at all. But he knew that she really didn’t like hurting people. That much had been something he’d learned very early on in knowing her. She had been mindful of Danny’s feelings the whole time, trying not to flaunt any of it in his face and not giving details unless he asked- which he hardly did.

They’d not really gotten any sort of response about what they’d done in front of him but Harry knew he wasn’t going to say anything about it because he would be too ashamed to admit it. He wasn’t shocked, though, when he got text messages during the day while Y/N slept soundly on his lap while watching a movie as Harry worked on his phone. She never could stay awake when the movie turned on and he played with her hair. One hand had been gently massaging her scalp while the other typed on his screen when the message popped up on his screen.

D: I don’t know what the fuck you did to her but I hope you’re happy. I trusted you with her, man. And you fucking stole her. She was mine. That shit you’re into is disgusting and you’ve brainwashed her or something, it’s fucked up.

Harry almost laughed at the message until he remembered what Y/N had been so upset about. The fact she hadn’t been seen as a person with her own emotions and feelings during the duration of the relationship had hit her. It may have started out good but it ended badly when she realized that he didn’t think she could choose what she liked. This was a prime example of it.

HS: I get being upset, but I didn’t steal her. She isn’t property. She’s capable of making her own decisions and you texting me something like that proves you don’t trust her judgment yet again. I’ll do my best to make her happy, I care about her more than you can fathom.

HS: I won’t be by any group gatherings, so don’t worry about that. Bye.

Harry muted the conversation.

It really wasn’t something he needed to talk to about with him anymore. He wasn’t sorry, he didn’t regret anything, he didn’t think what they did was fucked up. He could go back and forth about how Danny had been the one to hand over his girlfriend and push her right into Harry’s arms but at what cost? Why would he bother?

She was curled in his lap, head on his thighs with soft breaths puffing against his shirt. Buttons laid at his dog bed near the fireplace and he felt that happiness bubble up in his stomach again. This was what he wanted.

The dominant and submissive dynamic was something he loved and he enjoyed, absolutely. But the base level of his desires was wanting a real relationship with this before all the rest of it fell into place. Happiness at the most base level, trust, peace. Finding the delicate balance.

His eyes traced over her features as his mind wandered a bit. Was a full dynamic what she wanted? Was she looking for commitment right off the bat? Or did she need a little breathing room?

That didn’t seem as likely considering how she’d come right back home to him.

The knowledge that she didn’t have anything holding her back was something that pleased him endlessly. He didn’t have to worry about stepping on toes. While they hadn’t expressed out loud that they wanted to be in a full and committed relationship, he knew she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be.

If he was honest with himself, he knew that an emotional affair had played a part in it. The both of them had been feeling things for each other for a bit, at least for him it had been a while. Y/N had poured her trust into him and he had taken that very seriously. He’d done his best to keep himself in check but now he really didn’t have to.

It was astounding how fast emotions could form, how feelings could grow from a seedling planted in the pit of his belly to a full bloom that burst through his chest. She’d made a garden inside of him and he wanted her to see just how beautiful it could be, if she gave him the chance. A real one.

Harry the dominant was one part of him but it wasn’t the whole part. He was a fully fleshed out human with faults. He was picky about keeping his house clean, he could be a bit pushy sometimes, he tended to isolate when he was upset about something. There was hints of insecurity and possessiveness in his personality, jealousy. God, he was a pathetically jealous person even if he tried to keep it under wraps. These were things she hadn’t exactly gotten to see, even if there were glimpses here and there. The underlying anxiety was there and prevalent that maybe she’d see those parts and not like him as much.

The reminder that Y/N wasn’t that cruel circled back around and called him some, smiling as he felt her stir and scoot closer to him. Her nose nuzzled into his stomach, slow breathing evening out as she got comfortable again pressed up against him. The reminder that she also had faults that he hadn’t exactly seen yet was a comfort. He doubted that anything would truly scare him away, though. The obsession was already in place.

“M’gonna do my best.” He whispered quietly, letting the back of his hand brush her warm cheek as she snoozed, unaware of his tender words under his breath. Unaware that it felt like he was holding the world in the palm of his hand now, and it was slightly terrifying as he tried to ensure he wouldn’t break it. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl. Promise.”

——

Their dinner was quiet. Harry had put on jazz music that was understated beneath their talking, the food was good, but there was no denying that they both knew a conversation laid ahead that would be a defining factor.

As much as Harry tried to be calm about it, he was slightly nervous. Y/N looked slightly anxious and he tried to keep his shoulders relaxed but it was hard to when he was unsure what part she was anxious about. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long.

“I’m over Danny.” She blurted out. The dam had splintered and she felt like she couldn’t keep it back anymore. “I think I was over him for a long time. if he was in love with me, he would have never sent me to fuck around with someone else. If I was truly in love with him, I wouldn’t have agreed. I wouldn’t have been so eager to come and see you. It has been bothering me for a bit thinking maybe I was a bad person for wanting to move on so quickly but I think I had accepted subconsciously that it had been over for so long that it made it easier for me to feel almost single when I was around you.” Taking a gulp of air, she continued. To his credit Harry didn’t interrupt, merely folded his hands on the table and looked intently at her.

“The last thing I want you to consider yourself is a rebound, though. I’ve been torn because… while I know I like you a lot, and I do- I really do like you,” she paused to give him a nervous smile. “I wanted to make sure that you understand that I never saw you as someone to move on with when I wasn’t distracted by him in the first place. Every single time we were together I forgot about him. As cruel as it sounds… maybe the first time I had thought about how much better it was and how this was what I was missing, that I knew he’d never be capable of the things I wanted- but being with you was never about him for me.”

Y/N knew she was a flawed individual and it wasn’t a secret. It wasn’t morally right to most people and she understood that. But this had felt like a natural turn of events for her.

“You’ve been at the forefront of my mind since we first met up at the coffee shop. I always thought you were slightly intimidating and very handsome, very kind- but once I had the go ahead to think of you as more, it never stopped. It only grew.” Her eyes dropped to her mostly finished plate as she took a deeper breath. It felt like an avalanche of words were trying to come out, all the things she had held back coming out now that she felt safe enough to.

“I thought at first it really was a favor to him, that you were doing this because you were a good friend. But I… I’d like to think I have good enough senses to know that you enjoyed it too. You paid me more attention than anyone else ever has. From the texting to check in and remembering things I said off hand, to getting me things that are so unique to me and our conversations… it blew me away.” Her fingers fiddled with the napkin before she braved his eyes again.

“I just wanted to tell you that I… I really would like to try. With you. The um, the dominant stuff too, but… more? If that's something you’d want.”

“It is.” There was no hesitation in his answer, knowing she was losing steam in her rant. “It’s what I’ve wanted for a while. I tried very hard to be respectful at first, you know…” he swallowed, trying to find the words. “I wanted to be respectful because of you. I didn’t want to get out of turn. And then… I started to care less about it when I saw how little he cared about your relationship himself. I didn’t take the favor on directly because he asked me.” This was a revelation, just a bit. “I took it on because I knew you, I knew the… I know how it is wanting to try something and feeling like you’ve got no options. I also know how dangerous it could be with the wrong hands on you. And I cared for you, back then more so as a friend but I cared and didn’t want you to have a bad experience. I wanted it to be safe and pleasure filled and selfishly, I was attracted to you as it was.”

He may have fooled himself into thinking it was for Danny but he knew deep down why he had done it.

“I think that you took me by surprise. How well we worked together from day one. It felt like… you were made for me. Y’know?”

“Yeah.” She peeped. “I felt the same.”

The small smile on his lips was a reward for her, the table being a good divider for now. If it wasn’t there he knew he would be distracted by wanting to touch her. “Good. I was taken back by it and I wanted more n’more, I got selfish and greedy for a bit. I broke a little, having you in the cafe bathroom. Doin’ that, it was selfish for me. For us. There wasn’t anything pre planned and I knew by how you reacted I wasn’t exactly alone in the want to do more but I didn’t want to make you feel guilty, so I kept it back for a bit.”

It had been so difficult not to beg for me. Ask her to come over during the week when he felt especially lonely. Even just to have her sit in his bed and leave her scent all over the sheets or hear her padding around while he worked. That was the domesticity that he wanted. “It’s been more than sex for me for a while. I know the dynamic is more than that too, but I found myself wanting you around more. Wanting to do more things with you than what we were supposed to do. When we went out the first time together, had me all sort of nervous in the good way and I realized I was getting myself into something that could be really good, or really bad.” His heart had been on the line the whole time.

“Listen.” Leaning forward, he clasped his hands together again as he had her eyes. “I want t’be with you too. I want more. I want… the fun side where we play and go to the club, all of that. But I want more, too. The dinners and having you in my bed, without fucking. The softer things. I know that in the past you mentioned you had to control everything in your last relationship and I wanted to warn you that m’not like that- I like control in all areas of my life. It’s one of those things I’ve tried to work on a bit. Not necessarily of you in the traditional sense but… I like t’plan the dates. I like to feel needed, don’t mind bein’ the one to take care of you as long as you save that softness for me. Jus’ like you loving on me and being that sweet girl that you’ve shown me so far, and it’ll make me happy.” His hands itched to grab her. “Does that sound like something you can deal with.”

“It sounds like it’s perfect.” A shaky laugh left her as she felt slightly like she was dreaming. “I want to know more about how I can give back to you if you’re doing all the controlling but I… I really like that idea. I don’t mind you being the one to do all those things.” His version was exactly what she wanted.

“Good.” The sigh of relief was enough to relax his shoulders. “Now c’mon over here. You’ve been far away from me for far too long.”

Y/N scrambled up and rounded the table, a shy smile lighting up her face as she sat in his lap and giggled in surprise as his mouth met hers, eager and languid as his large hand held her hip. She felt safe. Giddy. Warm. She could get used to this.

332 notes · View notes

willowsnook · 1 month ago

Text

Heat Check (18+)

Nate MacKinnon x reader

summary: enemies to lovers, friendship with the team, smut

—--------------------------------------------------

Disciplined. Focused. Dedicated.

That’s how Nathan MacKinnon was wired, and your mere existence threatened that.

The Avalanche hired you before the season started to join the marketing team, and your job required you to work closely with the players. You made sure they were always where they were supposed to be for different non-hockey events, and watched over press conferences and interviews - that sort of thing.

Being in your mid-20s had a major advantage; you had enough years out of college that the players took you seriously, but still young enough that they messed around with you. You loved most of the players, but specifically, you were close with Jack Drury and Parker Kelly since they were the closest in age to you.

They took pity on you for not knowing anyone in Denver when you moved and quickly integrated you into their friend group which you were very grateful for. Being friends with them was easy since you had pretty much the same hectic schedule.

While those two loved you, there was one player who did not love you. Unfortunately, he just happened to be the most important one.

Flashbacks

You were only two weeks into the job when Nate MacKinnon’s sharp voice echoed down the hallway.

"Why the hell am I the only one here on time?" he snapped, glaring at the half-empty media room.

You checked your clipboard and calmly replied, “Because you didn’t read the schedule. Your slot isn’t for another 20 minutes.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So I’m just standing here like an idiot?”

“If the shoe fits,” you said sweetly, not looking up from your notes.

His jaw clenched. You didn’t flinch.

—--------------------------------------

“I told you I don’t want to do this ad,” Nate muttered, arms crossed as you stood in the locker room doorway.

You didn’t blink. “And I told you it’s in your contract. You skipped the last two. You’re out of excuses.”

“I have a routine. This screws it up.”

“Then I suggest you adjust,” you said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the waiting car. “Or do you want to explain to PR why your face isn’t in the team’s biggest sponsorship campaign?”

He muttered something under his breath but followed you out.

—--------------------------------------

“You didn’t tell me I had to speak,” Nate hissed as you straightened his name tag at the pre-event check-in.

You raised an eyebrow. “I did. Twice. You rolled your eyes both times.”

“I’m not a public speaker.”

You gave him a cool smile. “Lucky for you, I already wrote your speech. Try not to make it sound like a hostage video.”

“Why do you always have an answer for everything?” he growled.

“Because someone has to,” you replied, turning on your heel and leaving him standing there, speech in hand.

End of flashbacks

Jack and Parker always chastised you for going toe to toe with Nate but you just brushed them off. You didn’t have to answer him the way that they both did. Most of the team found it amusing, how easily you could get under his skin but you were more irritated by it – he was living up to the stereoype of stuck-up athlete who thought they were above listening to people like you.

During games, you sat in a team suite with other marketing people that had to be there and some operations folks. The Avs captain, Gabe, usually sat up here with you for away games and you had grown to really enjoy his company. The team was playing in St. Louis and you had just settled in next to Gabe who was intensely watching someone during the warm ups.

“Who are you watching?” You asked curiously, handing him a water.

“Nate,” he said, his eyes not leaving the rink. “Something is up with him, seems like he’s in a bad mood.”

“He’s always in a bad mood,” you muttered and Gabe let out a short laugh, grinning at you.

"Just to you, but this is different," Gabe replied, his expression turning serious again. "He's been off since morning skate. Usually, he's laser-focused before games, but today he's... distracted."

You followed Gabe's gaze to where Nate was on the ice. Even from this distance, you could see the tension in his shoulders as he took shots with more force than necessary. One clapped off the crossbar so hard it echoed through the arena.

"Maybe he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed," you suggested, settling back in your seat.

Gabe shook his head. "No, this started after he checked his phone in the locker room. Something's bothering him."

"Well, whatever it is, let's hope he channels it into scoring tonight," you said, trying to sound nonchalant despite your curiosity being piqued.

He did not channel it into scoring. You watched shocked as things started off bad and then just kept getting worse. He got into a fight 5 minutes into the first period and ended up in the penalty box. Nate MacKinnon in the box for fighting??? This hadn’t happened in ages.

The crowd was relentless, chirping him nonstop and for the man who prided himself on his ability to laser focus, you could see him starting to crack.

“What the fuck is going on?” You mumbled, watching him get into it with another Blues’ player.

Gabe was in just as much shock as you, “I have never seen him like this. I can’t even tell you the last time I saw him really in a fight.”

The two of you watched the rest of the third period in silence after Nate was pulled. You could tell, even from way up where you were, that he was fuming. The game ended, the Avs losing 2-0 and you packed up your stuff from the suite, heading down to one of the buses where you waited to leave with the team. You sat with another girl in marketing for the short ride to airport, boarding the jet quickly to get back to Denver.

As much as you wanted nothing more than to pour a glass of wine and curl up on your couch, you had just a little bit of work to finish up before you went home. So your first stop when the busses brought you back to the facility was to your office.

45 minutes later you decided to wrap it up and finally head out. You grabbed your coat and retreated downstairs, heading towards the parking lot. Someone came out from another part of the building and was a couple of steps ahead of you towards the same direction.

It was Nate.

Of course it was Nate.

You debated turning around—just calling an Uber and coming back for your car in the morning—but then he turned his head, clearly hearing your footsteps behind him. His shoulders tensed, and you sighed.

Too late.

You kept walking, giving him a wide berth as you reached your car.

“What?” you snapped when you caught him glaring at you from across the row.

“You have something to say?” Nate barked, tossing his bag into the back of his SUV with more force than necessary.

“Nope,” you said, popping your trunk. “But apparently you do, since you're throwing bags around like a toddler.”

He scoffed. “You think this is funny?”

“I think you picking fights on the ice like a pissed-off frat boy is a little pathetic, yeah.”

Nate stalked a step closer, jaw clenched. “You don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“Because you don’t let anyone know,” you fired back, slamming your trunk shut. “You just sulk and snap at everyone who breathes too loud near you.”

“And you always have to be right, don’t you?” he bit out. “Every damn time, there you are—telling me what to do, acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

He stepped even closer, tension radiating off of him. “You don’t respect me.”

“No,” you said, standing your ground, chin raised. “I don’t coddle you. There’s a difference.”

Nate was quiet for a moment, his breathing shallow. His eyes darted over your face like he was trying to figure you out for the first time.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered.

“Good,” you shot back. “It’s mutual.”

There was another pause, longer this time. Something charged in the air. You were both too stubborn to back down, standing in the glow of the parking lot lights, faces inches apart.

Neither of you knew it - but you weren’t alone in the parking lot. Cale and Gabe had also stayed behind and were standing by the doors, watching your little showdown.

“Do you think we should intervene?” Cale asked, scratching the back of his head. They had watched the two of you yell at each other from across the row to now yelling in each other’s faces.

Gabe started to say yes as your finger came up to Nate’s face but stopped short at what he saw. Your finger was in Nate’s face for less than a second before he pushed you back against his car, his lips on yours in a searing kiss. You were frozen for only a millisecond before you responded back harshly against him, wrapping your hand into his hair and pulling roughly.

Gabe and Cale were both slack jawed watching the scene in front of them.

"Holy shit," Cale whispered, eyes wide as he watched his teammate and you locked in what could only be described as the most aggressive make-out session he'd ever witnessed.

"We should... probably go," Gabe said, but neither of them moved, too shocked by the scene unfolding before them.

Meanwhile, your mind was racing even as your body responded to Nate's touch. His hands were everywhere—in your hair, gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as if the space between you was personally offensive to him. The kiss was all teeth and frustration, months of tension finally breaking.

When you finally pulled away for air, your chest heaving, Nate's eyes were dark and intense. His hair was disheveled where you'd run your fingers through it, and a flush had spread across his cheekbones.

"What the hell was that?" you breathed, staring at him in shock.

His jaw tightened, “Get in the car.”

“Make me,” you barked back, full of attitude. He yanked open the door behind you and pushed you in. You scooted back in his spacious back seat and he was on you again in an instant.

His lips crashed against yours, hungry and demanding, as he slammed the door shut behind him. Your back pressed against the leather seat, his weight pinning you down as his hands found the hem of your shirt. The windows quickly fogged as your breaths came in short, desperate gasps.

"I fucking hate how much I want you," he growled against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

"Shut up," you hissed back, tugging his hair hard enough to make him groan. "Just shut up for once."

“God I can’t wait to fuck that attitude out of you,” he growled, flipping you over to where your arms rested against the door. He yanked down your pants and ran his hand over your ass once before slapping it hard.

“I’d like to see you try,” you said brattily, as you looked over your shoulder at him.

His eyes darkened at your challenge, a dangerous smirk playing at his lips. "You always have to push, don't you?"

His hand came down again, harder this time, and you bit back a moan. The sting radiated across your skin as his fingers dipped between your thighs, finding you embarrassingly wet.

"Look at that," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "All that attitude, and this is what you really want."

You tried to maintain your composure, but it crumbled when he slid two fingers inside you without warning. Your head fell forward against the door as he curled them just right, making your knees weak.

"Fuck," you gasped, arching back against him.

"That's the plan," Nate replied, his free hand moving to unbuckle his belt. The sound of his zipper sliding down sent a thrill down your spine. He fingered you for a few more minutes before you pulling out, replacing them with the head of his cock at your entrance.

You knew he was going to tease you and you weren’t going to give him the chance. Moving back quickly you pushed yourself onto his cock all at once, making him groan.

"Jesus," he hissed, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. "You just can't let me have control, can you?"

"Not when you're so slow," you taunted, rolling your hips back against him.

That was all it took to snap his restraint. Nate growled low in his throat and pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you with enough force to push you forward. One hand snaked around to grip your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse quicken as he established a punishing rhythm.

"Still think I'm slow?" he panted against your ear, his other hand reaching around to circle your clit.

Each thrust was deep and deliberate, like he was trying to brand himself into you. The car rocked with the force of his body driving into yours.

Your thighs trembled as you struggled to maintain your position, the dual sensation of his fingers and his relentless pace pushing you rapidly toward the edge.

"Answer me," he demanded, giving your throat a gentle squeeze.

"N-no," you gasped, pride still battling with pleasure. "But I bet you can't make me come before you do."

You felt rather than heard his chuckle, a rumble against your back as he leaned over you.

"Always a competition with you," he muttered, but his fingers moved faster, more precisely against your clit. "Fine. Challenge accepted."

Nate shifted his angle slightly, hitting a spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. His rhythm never faltered as he used everything he'd learned about your body in the last few minutes to dismantle you completely.

"Shit," you whimpered, feeling your orgasm building. But you still had one trick left up your sleeve.

Clenching deliberately around him, you heard his breath catch. "Fuck," he groaned, his rhythm faltering for just a second.

"Not so confident now?" you managed to say between ragged breaths, even as your own control was slipping.

Nate responded by sliding his hand from your throat into your hair, gripping tightly and pulling your head back. His mouth found your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Nice try," he whispered, voice strained with effort. "But I know what you're doing."

He released your hair only to snake his arm around your waist, lifting you slightly to change the angle. The new position hit something deep inside that made your entire body jolt.

"Oh god," you gasped, your arms trembling as they braced against the door.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice husky and commanding. "Let go for me baby.”

He thought he had you exactly where he wanted you but he caught sight of you in the reflection of the window and that sent him over the edge. Your hair was a mess, and you were panting hard but he had never seen anything hotter than you in this moment.

Your name fell from his lips in a strangled groan as he came, his hips stuttering against you. The feeling of him pulsing inside you combined with his fingers still working against your clit sent you crashing over the edge just seconds later, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure rolled through you.

For a moment, the only sound was your shared ragged breathing fogging up the windows of his luxury SUV. Reality slowly began to seep back in as your heartbeat returned to normal.

"Fuck," Nate muttered, carefully pulling away from you. The loss of contact felt sudden, almost jarring.

You straightened up, wincing slightly at the soreness already setting in, and began to fix your clothes in the confined space. The post-orgasm clarity was hitting hard, and with it came the realization of what you'd just done. Not giving him a chance to say anything, you simply opened the car door and stumbled out. You didn’t look back as you walked towards your car and it honestly felt like you were in a fever dream.

You hated Nathan MacKinnon. Hated him. So why then did you just fuck him in the back of a car like a tennager?

—---------------------------------------

Work the next day wasn’t awkward but that was mostly due to the fact that you normally avoided Nate at all costs; you hadn’t even spared him a glance when you were both in the lobby that morning. Your game plan was calm, cool, and collected. There was no reason for him to know that he was the reason you didn’t get any sleep, your head playing the car scene on replay and then getting mad at yourself for doing it.

Morning skate was over and you were standing outside the locker room talking to Cale and Parker about an upcoming charity event they both had to be at.

“Just send us a reminder the week of please,” Parker begged and you laughed, agreeing to his request.

“So y/n, do anything fun after getting back last night?” Cale asked randomly and both you and Parker gave him a weird look.

“Can’t say that I did,” you said confused, “Just went home and hung out.”

“So you hung out at a home? Not anywhere else?” Cale pressed.

You shot Cale a perplexed look. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he replied too quickly, a strange smile playing at his lips. "Just making conversation."

Parker glanced between the two of you, clearly sensing something was off. Before he could question it further, the locker room door swung open and several players filed out. Your heart skipped traitorously when Nate emerged, his hair still damp from the shower.

His eyes locked with yours for a split second before he ducked his head, brushing past your small group without a word. The faintest hint of his cologne lingered in his wake, bringing unwelcome flashbacks of being pressed against him.

"That was weird," Parker commented, watching Nate's retreating form. "He didn't even glare at you. Are you sure you two didn't finally hash things out?"

“Yeah, like in a car or something?” Cale added and you froze.

“What does that mean?” Parker asked and you turned ot Cale who had a shit eating grin on his face.

“Can you give us a minute Parker,” you managed to stutter out, mind racing at the words that just came out of this man’s mouth. Parker nodded slowly before turning to catch Jack who was on his way out.

“How do you know?” You seethed at Cale once Parker was out of sight. “And why would you fucking bring it up?”

Cale just laughed and grinned down on you, “You two weren’t the only ones in the parking lot last night. Gabe and I got an eyeful.”

Your stomach dropped to your feet. "Oh my god."

"Don't worry," Cale said, lowering his voice. "We left as soon as things... escalated. But maybe next time pick somewhere more private than the team parking lot?"

You covered your face with your hands, mortification washing over you in waves. "I'm going to die. Right here. This is how it ends."

Cale chuckled. "Relax. Gabe and I aren't going to tell anyone."

"Does Nate know that you saw?" you whispered, peeking through your fingers.

"No idea. We didn't exactly stick around to exchange notes." Cale's expression softened. "Look, whatever's going on between you two—"

"Nothing is going on," you cut in quickly. "It was a... momentary lapse in judgment. A stress relief thing. That’s all.”

“Hmm,” he said, looking at you carefully. “Just interesting for a guy who has said he’s so focused on the team that he won’t even think about girls to be caught fucking one in the parking lot. Specifically one he claims he can’t stand.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t say anything, filing away that comment for later.

—---------------------------------------

Gabe was standing in the locker room, hovering near Nate’s locker as he scanned the room for a perfect accomplice in what he was about to do. Cale had told him what you had said about the following night so now he wanted to put to the test if you were the only one hot and bothered about it.

“Charlie!” His eyes lighted up as he caught side of the new Avs player passing by. Glancing over to make sure Nate didn’t have his headphones in he continued on. “Tough game yesterday.”

“No kidding cap,” Charlie said. “Definitley was happy to get home.”

“Good thing we have people on the team to support us,” Gabe tried to say casually. “Have you met y/n yet?”

Gabe watched Nate still at the mention of your name while Charlie nodded.

“Yeah - she’s cool,” he said.

“Kinda hot too right?” Gabe urged on and Charlie gave him a bewildered look.

“Yeah - aren’t you married?” Charlie asked.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t call it like I see it,” Gabe said, already thinking of ways to make it up to his wife for this performance.

“Enough,” barked Nate and Gabe grinned. “Don’t talk about Avs employees like that.”

Charlie started to back away, desperate to get away from whatever was going on as Nate glared daggers into the side of Gabe’s face. Gabe pretended to ponder for a moment.

“Hmm good call, what’s your take on hanging out with them outside of work? Like in the backseat of a car?”

Nate was on his feet in an instant, shoving Gabe across the locker room. Shouts went out as other players watched Nate stalk over to where Gabe had landed.

"What the fuck, man?" Nate growled, looming over Gabe who was sprawled against the lockers.

Gabe held up his hands in surrender, but couldn't hide his smirk. "Just asking a question."

The locker room had gone silent, everyone frozen in place watching the scene unfold. EJ took a hesitant step forward, ready to intervene, but Gabe waved him off.

"You saw," Nate hissed, his voice low enough that only Gabe could hear. "How many others know?"

"Just me and Cale," Gabe replied, getting to his feet and straightening his shirt. "Your secret's safe. Though I wouldn't call it a secret when you're going at it in the team parking lot."

Nate ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Gabe grinned, “Then why’d you throw me across the locker room?”

—--------------------------------------

You were in your head at work these days and still had refused to talk to Nate. You wish you could say that you were over what happened but that definitely wasn’t the case, in more ways than one.

“Are you sure I can’t stay the night?”

You looked up over at the guy you’d matched with on Hinge hovering near your door with mild sympathy.

“Yeah - I’m sorry, I have a really early morning,” you lied, hoping your face looked like you meant it.

“Okay, well this was great, let’s do it again sometime,” he said, coming over to kiss you one last time before heading out. You waited until you heard the door click shut to fall back on your bed and scream into your pillow.

Everything about this guy was perfect. He was hot as fuck, had a great job, and seemed genuinely interested in you. But the whole time you couldn’t stop comparing him to that fucking asshole on the Avs.

You shouldn’t have let him come back to your apartment but you did in hopes that it would snap you back into reality but the opposite happened. You had to fake it for god sake.

It had been two weeks since your unfortunate parking lot adventure and this was the second time this had happened. You just couldn’t “get it up” anymore.

You hadn’t meant to cross paths with him.

But of course, when you turned the corner into the media room to double-check tomorrow’s charity schedule, there he was leaning against the table, arms crossed, talking with Gabe and Cale.

You stalled for a second in the doorway, hoping maybe he wouldn't notice you. No such luck. His eyes locked on yours immediately, his expression sharpening like he’d been waiting for you.

You moved to the far side of the room, rifling through the papers you needed. He wasn’t going to rattle you today.

“I sent you the updated itinerary,” you said aloud, without looking at him. “So there’s no reason you shouldn’t be where you’re supposed to be tomorrow.”

“I know how to read a schedule,” Nate snapped, his voice curt.

You turned to face him, eyebrow raised. “Could’ve fooled me last week when you bailed on the hospital visit.”

“I told PR I wasn’t feeling well,” he replied, his tone clipped. “I’m not going to show up for a photo op when I’ve got a fever.”

“No one’s asking you to pose on a red carpet,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “It’s called being a professional.”

“Don’t lecture me about professionalism,” he said, stepping closer. “Especially not when you—”

“Nate,” Gabe warned gently, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“No, let him finish,” you said, eyes narrowing. “Since he’s so good at making things personal.”

The room tensed. Even Cale took a step back like he wanted to pretend he wasn’t witnessing this.

Nate’s jaw flexed. “You walk around here acting like you’re the one in charge of everyone. You don’t know what it’s like out there, what we’re dealing with.”

“And you think you’re the only one carrying weight?” you replied. “You think it’s easy managing egos the size of this building? Try keeping an entire media schedule from falling apart while you throw tantrums over a twenty-minute interview.”

He moved even closer, standing toe-to-toe with you now. “You really have a way of getting under people’s skin, you know that?”

“You’re not exactly sunshine and charm either,” you retorted, glaring up at him.

For a second, neither of you moved. The tension between you buzzed like an exposed wire. It wasn’t just anger—it was something else, something sharper, more dangerous.

Cale cleared his throat loudly. “So, uh... we’re gonna go.”

“Yeah,” Gabe mumbled, already walking toward the door. “Enjoy… whatever this is.”

Once they were gone, the silence between you was deafening.

You stared at Nate, heart pounding in your chest. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Then stop starting it,” he replied, voice low.

You rolled your eyes and turned to gather your paperwork, but his voice stopped you.

“Don’t act like you don’t feel it too.”

You froze.

He was still standing there, arms crossed again, but his gaze had softened. There was something behind it—uncertainty, maybe even regret. And underneath that, the same pull that had been growing stronger since the moment you met him.

You swallowed. “Maybe I do,” you said. “But it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

His eyes darkened just slightly. “Most of the best things in life aren’t.”

You shook your head, but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “But you don’t seem to be going anywhere.”

—-----------------------------------

All you wanted to do after the shit day you had was go home and take a bath and pop open a bottle of wine, but begrudgingly you found yourself at a bar in downtown Denver per Jack and Parker’s request.

It was Ross Colton’s birthday and you were friendly with him so the boys insisted that you come. You did enjoy the opportunity to let loose and dress differently than you did at work. Your long hair was curled down your back, laying atop of a tight black top paired with cargo pants.

The bar was loud, buzzing with bodies and laughter and music thumping just a little too hard through the walls. You were doing your best to pretend you were having a good time—smiling when Parker made a dumb face, clinking your glass with Jack’s—but you couldn’t shake the weight in your chest.

Eventually, you drifted away from the group, needing a break. You made your way to the bar, perched on the edge of a stool, and ordered a sparkling water, hoping the coolness would help ground you.

You didn’t notice the guy until he was already too close.

“Hey there,” he said, voice low and way too confident. “Been watching you all night.”

You glanced at him briefly. “Cool,” you muttered, turning your attention back to your drink.

But he didn’t move.

“You alone?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Just needed some air.”

He grinned like you’d invited him in. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve got time to keep you company.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He leaned in anyway, his shoulder brushing yours. “You sure? You look like you could use a strong drink and a stronger distraction.”

You shifted slightly in your seat, trying to put space between your bodies. “I said I’m fine.”

“C’mon,” he said, lowering his voice as he moved closer. “Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be nice.”

His hand landed on your leg—too high, too firm—and your entire body stiffened. You pushed it off immediately, heart rate spiking.

“Don’t touch me,” you snapped.

He smiled like it was a joke. “Relax. You don’t have to play hard to get.”

You stood up abruptly, your barstool scraping loudly across the floor. “Back off.”

He grabbed your wrist.

Not hard—but enough to freeze your blood.

“Let go,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady even as panic started crawling up your throat.

A second passed. Then another. Finally, he released you with a mocking smirk, like you were the one overreacting.

You spun on your heel, pushing past people, your breath shallow. You didn’t stop until you reached the hallway near the bathrooms. The music faded just enough that your pulse was the loudest thing you could hear.

You locked yourself in the farthest stall and sat on the closed toilet seat, burying your face in your hands.

Your fingers trembled. You felt sick. A few tears made their way down your face and you couldn’t stop your mind from flashing the look on that guy’s face when he looked at you. It chilled you.

Pulling yourself together you made it to the bathroom sink, splashing water on your face to calm down. Your eyes were a little red-rimmed but you hoped that the low lights of the bar would fix that. Smoothing your hair, you gave yourself one last look before heading back out.

Parker was the first person you saw and you beelined towards him, not even noticing it was Nate who he was talking to.

“Hey,” Parker greeted as you barreled into him, he started to say something else but shifted gears. “What’s wrong?”

Nate’s attention snapped towards you, taking in your red eyes and the general nervousness you were exhibiting.

“Nothing,” you said, trying to sound normal. “Just tired.”

Parker accepted the answer and kept on what he was saying but Nate wasn’t listening, his eyes were trained on you. You met them for a second before blinking away and that was all he needed. He knew what he saw. Fear.

“Who is he?” He interrupted Parker mid-sentence and you shifted from one foot to another.

“It’s fine,” you told him.

"It's not fine," Nate insisted, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me who he is."

Parker looked between the two of you, confused. "What's going on?"

You shook your head. "Nothing. Just some creep at the bar, but I handled it."

Nate's jaw clenched as his eyes scanned the room. "Which one?"

"Nate, seriously—"

"Which. One." His voice left no room for argument.

You sighed, discretely gesturing toward the guy who was now leaning against the bar, watching you with that same smirk. "The one in the blue button-down. But please don't make a scene."

Nate was already moving before you finished your sentence, his shoulders set in a hard line as he cut through the crowd. Parker cursed under his breath and followed, clearly sensing trouble.

You scrambled after them, heart hammering in your chest. "Nate, don't—"

But he was already standing in front of the guy, his presence commanding even in the crowded bar. You pushed your way through just in time to hear Nate's deceptively calm voice.

"I understand you've been bothering my friend."

The guy's smirk faltered slightly as he looked up at Nate, clearly recognizing him. "We were just talking, man. No big deal."

"Grabbing someone isn't 'just talking,'" Nate replied, his voice dropping even lower. "And I don't like when people touch what's mine."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. Parker shot you a surprised look, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding.

The guy straightened, trying to match Nate's height and masking his panic with a fake sense of confidence.

“Do you usually let your girl dress like a slut then?” He shot out and it wasn’t a second after the last word left his mouth that Nate’s fist was flying towards his face.

The bar erupted into chaos. The guy staggered backward, blood already trickling from his nose as he crashed into a table of drinks. Glasses shattered across the floor. Someone screamed.

"Nate!" you shouted, lunging forward to grab his arm before he could land another punch. His muscles were coiled tight under your fingers, ready to strike again.

Parker was there in an instant, pulling Nate back with both arms. "Not worth it, man. Not here."

Security descended on your group within seconds, burly men in black shirts materializing from the edges of the room. One of them recognized Nate immediately, his eyes widening.

"Everyone out. Now," the head security guard commanded, pointing toward the exit.

The guy with the bloody nose was still sprawled against the broken table, clutching his face and cursing. "You're fucking dead, MacKinnon.”

Nate just grinned at him. A sadistic sort of grin that had heat flwogin through your body.

“I’ll see you outside then.”

You followed close behind as security escorted Nate out of the bar.

Parker and Jack flanked Nate on either side as you all spilled out onto the sidewalk, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin. Nate shook his hand out, knuckles already reddening from the impact.

"What the hell was that?" Parker hissed, keeping his voice low as curious onlookers gathered nearby.

"He had it coming," Nate replied flatly, his eyes still burning with anger.

You stepped in front of him, placing a hand on his chest. "Are you insane? You can't just punch people in public. You're the face of the franchise!"

His eyes locked with yours, intense and unrepentant. "He put his hands on you."

"I handled it," you insisted, though your voice wavered slightly.

"Not from where I was standing," he growled.

Jack glanced nervously over his shoulder. “We might get round 2 soon guys.”

“Good, I was just getting started,” Nate boasted and you rolled your eyes.

“No,” you said, irritated. “Your hand is already bloodied and I’m not going to be the reason you have to sit out a game. You two go back in and have fun, I’m taking him to get cleaned up.”

Parker and Jack both raised their eyebrows at you but didn’t argue. Nate looked like he was going to protest but one glare from you shut him up. You led him down the street and towards your apartment; the walk was silent but luckily short and you were soon climbing up the familiar steps to your place.

“Come on,” you murmured as you stepped in, motioning for him to follow you to the kitchen.

He followed you silently, eyes taking in every detail of your apartment. It was tidy but lived-in, with touches of your personality everywhere—books stacked on the coffee table, a sweater draped over the couch, a few framed photos on the wall.

"Sit," you instructed, pointing to a barstool at your kitchen counter. Nate obeyed without argument, watching as you moved to the freezer and pulled out an ice pack.

You grabbed a clean dish towel, wrapped the ice pack inside it, and gently took his hand. His knuckles were already swelling, skin split across two of them.

"This was stupid," you muttered, carefully pressing the ice to his hand. "You know that, right?"

"Doesn't feel stupid," he replied, his voice quieter now, all the rage from earlier simmering down to something more controlled.

“You laid a claim on me to that guy and Parker and Jack,” you said, looking him the eye now. “Why?”

“You are mine,” he said with a shrug, as if it was the most casual thing in th world.

“I am not yours,” you argued. “We don’t even like each other.”

“You became mine the second you didn’t push me away,” he said seriously and you groaned in frustration.

"That doesn't make any sense," you said, pulling away from him and setting the ice pack on the counter. "One hook-up in a car doesn't make me yours."

Nate's eyes followed you as you paced the small kitchen. "It wasn't just the hook-up."

"Then what was it? Our constant arguments? The way you glare at me across rooms? Please, enlighten me."

He stood up, closing the distance between you in two strides. "It's the way you don't back down. How you call me on my shit when everyone else just nods and agrees. It's how you walk into a room like you own it." His voice dropped lower. "It's how you felt against me that night."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Nate—"

"I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, the confession seeming to surprise even him. “You’re in my head constantly - it’s infuriating.”

You smirked at that, only he would find a way to be into you and pissed about it at the same time. Well maybe you felt that way too.

“I’ve had to fake two orgasms since then,” you blurted out and his head snapped up, faint amusement on his face.

“Oh yeah?” He pressed.

Your face was scarlet and you turned away mumbling, “Keep thinking about the car.”

Nate stepped closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. His injured hand hovered near your hip like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

“You think I haven’t thought about it too?” he asked, voice low. “That I haven’t replayed that night a hundred times?”

You swallowed hard, unsure if you were dizzy from how close he was or from the confession itself. “Then why are you such an asshole to me?”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t look away. “Because I didn’t know how else to act around you. You get under my skin. You make everything feel... unsteady.”

Your breath hitched. “Unsteady isn’t always a bad thing.”

He reached out slowly, giving you time to pull away—but you didn’t. His hand settled lightly on your waist.

“Let me take you out,” he said, softer now. “Not to the backseat of my car. A real date. Just us. No yelling. No insults.”

You stared up at him, heart thudding.

“You’re intense,” you said quietly.

He gave a small grin. “So are you.”

The silence between you now felt different—warmer, heavier with something that wasn’t just lust or rivalry anymore.

“Okay,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. “One date.”

Nate exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months. “One date,” he agreed. “But I’m warning you now—I’m not planning on it being the last.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

He leaned down, brushing his lips gently against your cheek, this time not rushed or heated—just a promise.

And for the first time in weeks, your chest didn’t feel so heavy.

#nhl x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nate mackinnon #nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon x reader #nathan mackinnon x reader

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kikis-writing-service · 2 months ago

Text

Damage Control (Midoriya Izuku x Reader) Chapter 1

Summary:

You've always been there—Izuku's constant, his anchor, so integral to his life he's never actually seen you. Twenty years of devotion rendered invisible by familiarity. Until his divorce forces him to lean on you again, and a casual revelation about your past with Katsuki makes him suddenly, devastatingly aware of everything he's been taking for granted.

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Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 |

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Content Warning: This fic contains divorce, alcohol use, toxic behavior while intoxicated, unhealthy relationship patterns, and implied emotional infidelity.

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The buzzing of your phone jerked you awake at 2:37 AM. You didn't need to check the caller ID—only one person would call at this hour, and your hand was already reaching for it before your eyes fully opened.

"Izuku?" You were already sitting up, shoving your feet into slippers. The soft fabric was a small comfort against the early morning chill.

All you could hear was ragged breathing and what sounded suspiciously like muffled sobs. Your fingers tightened on the phone, knuckles white in the darkness.

"I can't—" His voice broke, thick with tears, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. "I don't—I can't—"

"I'm on my way," you said, grabbing the first hoodie you could reach. Your hands moved on autopilot, years of friendship guiding you through the familiar routine. "Your place?"

A wet, hiccuping sob that might have been confirmation. You were already grabbing your keys, mentally calculating the fastest route at this hour. The weight of them in your hand felt heavier than usual.

"Eight minutes," you said quietly. "Maybe seven."

"She's leaving." The words came out broken, raw. "Yui, she—she wants—" Another sob caught in his throat. "A divorce. She wants a divorce."

Your hand froze on the doorknob. For a moment, all you could hear was your own heartbeat and his uneven breathing. The word echoed in your mind—divorce, divorce, divorce—each repetition making it more real.

"Stay on the line?" You were already heading to your car, voice gentler than usual. The night air bit at your cheeks as you rushed outside.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I know it's late, I shouldn't have—but I can't stop crying and you always just—you always know what to do—"

"Hey," you cut him off softly. "You don't ever have to apologize. Not to me." The words came automatically, worn smooth by years of repetition in different crises.

You could hear him trying to steady his breathing, the familiar sound of him fighting to regain control. "You're the best, you know that? Always there when I need you."

"Seven minutes," you said, starting the car. The engine rumbled to life, cutting through the pre-dawn silence. "Six if I break a few speed limits."

A wet laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Don't you dare. The PR nightmare if Japan's number one hero's responsible for you getting a ticket at 3 AM—"

"Then keep talking so I'm too distracted to speed." You merged onto the main road, knuckles white on the steering wheel. The streetlights blurred past in streaks of amber. "Want me to stop for those terrible cookies you pretend not to like?"

"The pink ones?" His voice shifted, becoming smaller somehow, more vulnerable. "With the frosting?"

"The objectively worst cookies in existence," you confirmed with forced lightness, already knowing you'd stop for them.

"...yes, please."

You were already pulling into the convenience store parking lot, the fluorescent lights harsh after the darkness of the drive. "Three extra minutes, then. Think you can handle the wait?"

"I'll try," he said, voice shaky. "Everything keeps replaying and I can't—I can't make it stop."

"I know," you said quietly, killing the engine. The sudden silence felt heavy. "I'm getting coffee too. This feels like an all-nighter kind of crisis."

"You're too good to me," he said, sniffling but calmer now.

You let that sit for a moment as you got out of the car. The convenience store glowed like a beacon in the darkness. "Three minutes. Try not to start any international incidents before I get there."

His quiet chuckle was followed by "No promises" as you entered the store. The bell above the door chimed too loudly in the empty space. You quickly grabbed his horrible cookies, coffee, and, after a moment's hesitation, the spicy chips he always stole from you when he thought you weren't looking. Your hand hovered over the tissues before adding two boxes to your basket. Definitely tissues.

As you stood in line to pay, the weight of the moment settled over you. Here you were at 2:45 AM, buying comfort food for Japan's number one hero while he cried on the phone about his failing marriage. The cashier, half-asleep and uninterested, rang up your items without comment. The mundane normalcy of the transaction felt surreal against the backdrop of Izuku's crisis.

You'd learned to live with that particular irony a long time ago—how the most significant moments often played out against the most ordinary settings.

The rest of the drive felt endless, each red light an eternity with his shaky breathing in your ear. You kept him talking about nothing—the weather, your terrible driving, anything to keep him from spiraling deeper into his thoughts.

"Remember that time in high school," you said, turning onto his street, the familiar route bringing back a thousand memories, "when you tried to prove you could eat ten of those cookies at once?"

A wet laugh. "And choked on the frosting? Recovery Girl was so mad."

"'Young man,'" you mimicked your old school nurse's voice, forcing cheer into your tone, "'there are better ways to die in heroics than pink frosting asphyxiation.'"

His laugh was stronger this time, even if it ended in a hiccup. Then, quieter: "Everything felt simpler then."

You pulled into his driveway, killing the engine. Through his living room window, you could see lights still on—he probably hadn't even tried to sleep. The warm glow looked wrong somehow, too normal for what was happening inside. "You want to tell me what happened?"

A shaky exhale. "Can it wait until you're inside? I don't—I don't want to do this over the phone."

"Already here." You grabbed the convenience store bags, juggling your phone and keys. The paper rustled in the quiet night. "Front door?"

"Yeah, I—" You heard movement through the phone, then footsteps. "I'll get it."

The door opened before you could knock, and your carefully maintained composure cracked slightly. His hair had come loose from its usual tie, dark curls falling around his face in disarray. His eyes were red and swollen, tears still tracking down his cheeks, and something about seeing him like this—Japan's number one hero reduced to such raw vulnerability—made your chest ache in ways you couldn't afford to think about.

Before you could think better of it, you stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, convenience store bags still dangling from one hand.

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, wrapping his arms around you with desperate strength. His whole body shook against yours, and you could feel the dampness of his tears soaking through your hoodie. "Did you really bring the cookies?" he mumbled into your shoulder.

"Yup. And tissues," you said, voice slightly muffled by his chest. "Because I know you."

His laugh was watery, but his arms tightened. "Yeah. Yeah, you do."

You stood there in his doorway longer than necessary, letting him hold on as long as he needed. When he finally pulled back, you both moved inside to the living room floor. Izuku's back rested against the couch, you cross-legged beside him. The convenience store bag sat between you both, crackling as you unpacked its contents. Some of his hair had come completely loose from its tie now, dark curls falling into his face as he stared at his hands.

"She said—" His voice cracked. He swallowed, tried again. "She said she can't do this anymore. The waiting. The not knowing if I'll come home. The constant rescheduling of everything because some villain—" He broke off, more tears falling.

You silently passed him the tissues you'd bought, watching as he took them with shaking hands.

"I thought we were okay," he continued after a moment, voice thick. "I mean, I knew things weren't perfect, but I thought... I thought she understood. About the hero work. About why I can't just—" He gestured helplessly at the air. "Why I have to—"

"What happened tonight?" you asked softly. "Why now?"

He let out a shaky breath, and you watched his shoulders rise and fall with the effort of containing another sob. "I missed dinner. Again. We had reservations, nice place downtown. The kind where you need to book weeks in advance." His voice turned bitter. "But there was this hostage situation in Shinjuku, and I couldn't—I couldn't just leave those people—"

"Of course you couldn't." The words came automatically, because you knew him. Had always known him.

"That's what I said. But Yui, she..." His voice wavered, breaking on his wife's name. "She was so calm about it. That's what scared me most. She wasn't even angry. She just looked at me when I finally got home and said 'I can't do this anymore.'"

You watched as he twisted the tissue in his hands, shredding it slowly. His fingers worked methodically, creating a small pile of white fragments in his lap.

"She said she's tired of competing with everyone else's emergencies. That she knows the hero work is important, but she needs—" His breath hitched, and you saw his hands clench. "She needs someone who can put her first sometimes. Who can promise to be there for anniversaries and birthdays and just... regular Tuesday nights."

"And you can't promise that."

"No." The word came out broken, barely audible. "I can't. I tried to explain that I want to, that I'll try harder to balance things, but she said—" More tears fell, and he didn't bother wiping them away this time. "She said she's done trying to build a life with someone who belongs to everyone else."

You wordlessly opened the cookies, placing the package in his lap. The crinkle of plastic felt too loud in the heavy silence. He gave a watery laugh.

"These really are terrible," he said, already reaching for one. Pink crumbs immediately dusted his fingers.

"And yet." You took one yourself, the artificial sweetness coating your tongue.

You both sat in silence for a moment, the only sound his occasional sniffling and the rustle of the cookie package. The familiar rhythm of sharing bad convenience store food felt like an anchor in the storm of his grief.

"I don't know how to fix this," he finally whispered. "I don't know if I can."

"Do you want to?"

He looked up at you, startled. His eyes were still red-rimmed, but there was confusion now mixed with the grief. "What?"

"Fix it," you clarified gently. "Not can you, but do you want to? If fixing it means promising to step back from hero work, to let other heroes handle some calls, to sometimes put your marriage before saving people... is that something you actually want?"

He opened his mouth, closed it. You watched him struggle with the weight of the question.

"Because that's what she's asking for," you continued softly. "Not for you to stop being a hero entirely, but to be less of one. To choose her over others sometimes. To let some people wait while you have dinner with your wife."

"I can't." His voice broke completely. "God, I can't. What kind of person does that make me? That I can't even promise my own wife—"

"It makes you you," you said simply. "The person who will always run toward danger if it means saving someone. The person who can't ignore a cry for help. The person who—" You caught yourself before adding 'I fell in love with.' The words sat heavy on your tongue, unspoken but somehow still present in the room. "The person you've always been."

"And that person can't be married, apparently." His laugh was bitter, so unlike his usual warmth that it made you ache.

"That person can't be married to someone who needs more than you can give while still being true to yourself," you corrected. "Neither of you is wrong, Izuku. You just want different things."

He was quiet for a long moment, absently reaching for another cookie. You watched him chew mechanically, his gaze distant.

"When did you get so wise?"

"Somewhere between the third and fourth time I had to explain to the press why you destroyed a city block to save a cat."

That startled a laugh out of him, even if it was still watery. "That cat was stuck really high up."

"It was a cat, Izuku. They get down eventually."

"It was scared!"

"You broke a billboard."

"The billboard was in the way!"

You smiled, letting him have this moment of normalcy. But after a minute, his face fell again, reality creeping back in.

"My mom's going to be so disappointed."

"In you? Never."

"In me failing at this. At marriage. At—at being normal."

"You've never been normal," you said, keeping your voice gentle. "That's not a bad thing. Some people aren't built for normal lives. They're built for extraordinary ones."

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment you were afraid you'd revealed too much. Your heart beat too fast, too loud, and you hoped he couldn't hear it in the quiet room. But he just reached for another cookie.

"I really thought we could make it work," he said quietly. "That love would be enough."

"Sometimes it isn't." The words felt like they were being torn from your chest. "Sometimes you can love someone completely and still not be right for each other."

Don't I know it, you didn't add. The words sat like stones in your throat.

You both sat in silence for a while, the cookies slowly disappearing between you. The room had grown lighter, dawn creeping in at the edges of the curtains, painting everything in shades of grey.

Finally, he spoke again:

"I can't stop thinking about the press. The headlines." His voice caught slightly. "Everyone finding out that Japan's number one hero can't even keep his marriage together."

Your fingers were already moving across your phone screen, the familiar rhythm of crisis management steadying your hands. This, at least, you knew how to handle. "The press will be the easy part. We control the narrative, get ahead of it."

"How do we even begin to—"

"We tell the truth." You kept your eyes on your notes, not trusting yourself to look up. "A mutual, amicable separation. Two people who care about each other choosing to end things respectfully."

He shifted on the floor beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. The proximity made your skin prickle with awareness you couldn't afford to acknowledge. "And the hero angle?"

"We acknowledge it directly." A strand of your hair fell forward as you typed, and you tucked it back with practiced efficiency. "The unique challenges of hero life, the toll it takes on relationships. People understand that."

"So what's the plan?"

"First, absolute privacy until we're ready. No public appearances together, no social media." Your fingers paused over the screen. "We'll need to talk to Yui, make sure she's comfortable with how we handle this. The press can be... intense."

His shoulders tensed at Yui's name. "She shouldn't have to deal with reporters outside her office."

"She won't." Your voice softened unconsciously. "I can help her prepare, give her some guidelines." You hesitated, watching his hair fall forward as he leaned to see your screen. "There's one more thing."

"What?"

"The hair needs to go."

He looked up, surprise momentarily displacing the shadows under his eyes. "The hair?"

"A change." You kept your tone professional, clinical. "Something visible. When the public sees you, they need to see someone who's moving forward, not stuck in the past."

"But—"

"It's not about aesthetics." You cut him off before he could finish. "It's about giving people a visual marker of transition. New chapter, new look. It helps them process the change along with you."

He was quiet for a long moment, absently running his fingers through the length of his hair. You focused very intently on your phone screen, not watching the way the curls wrapped around his fingers.

"Maybe I deserve whatever they say about me," he said finally, voice low. "I wasn't... I couldn't..."

"Stop." The word came out sharper than intended. You modulated your tone carefully. "You're someone who saves lives. That's not wrong."

"At what cost?"

The question hung between you both, heavy with implications neither was ready to face. You allowed yourself one touch to his shoulder, brief and professionally appropriate. His shirt was soft under your fingers. "At whatever cost you decide is worth it."

He dropped his head back against the couch, exposing the line of his throat. You looked away. "I should have—"

"You were exactly who you are." You shifted slightly, maintaining careful distance. "Someone who runs toward danger when others run away. That's not a flaw."

His smile was tired but real, and something in your chest ached at the familiar sight. "Always full of wisdom, aren't you?"

"I've always been wise. You just never listen." You set your phone aside, suddenly aware of the hour, the exhaustion creeping in.

"So..." He watched you scroll through your calendar. "What kind of haircut are we thinking?"

You looked up from your phone, studying his profile with careful consideration. The way his curls fell forward, the shape of his face, what would photograph well but still feel authentic to who he was. After a moment's thought, the answer came to you.

"An undercut," you said decisively. "Professional, approachable. Good for your image."

"Yeah?" Something in his voice made you glance up again. He was watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read. "You think it'd look good?"

"It's a practical choice." You returned to your screen. "Makes a statement while staying on brand."

"What would I do without you?" The warmth in his voice felt dangerous. "Seriously," he said softly, your name gentle on his lips, "you're—"

"Just doing my job." You pulled up your media contact list, ignoring how the words tasted like ash. "Now, about the timing—we should wait a week, let the initial shock pass. Maybe some casual photos of you volunteering..."

He reached for another cookie while you outlined the strategy, and you pretended not to notice how his hand shook slightly.

You had a PR crisis to manage. Everything else was irrelevant.

Even if some small, traitorous part of you was already dreading the day you'd have to watch him change.

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It was nearly 4 AM when Izuku finally drifted off, exhaustion and emotional drain winning out over his determination to keep talking. You watched as his head gradually tilted back against the couch, his breathing evening out into the gentle rhythm of sleep.

The silence felt different now, heavier somehow. You waited, counting his breaths, making sure he was truly asleep before carefully gathering the empty cookie packages and coffee cups. Your movements were practiced, quiet—you'd done this before, cleaned up after late-night crisis sessions, though never quite like this.

When you returned with a blanket from the hall closet, you paused, allowing yourself one unguarded moment to really look at him.

His face was softer in sleep, the harsh lines of grief temporarily smoothed away. Tear tracks still marked his cheeks, catching the dim light. Dark curls fell across his forehead in a way that made your fingers itch to brush them back. You'd spent years carefully not letting yourself stare like this, maintaining professional distance even in private moments. But now...

Before you could stop yourself, you pulled out your phone. Just one photo, you told yourself. To remember his hair before the inevitable PR makeover. That's all it was.

The lie felt hollow even as you carefully adjusted the angle, capturing the way moonlight played across his features, how his curls caught the dim light. You'd delete it later, you promised yourself. Probably.

After gently draping the blanket over him, you settled into the armchair across the room, already pulling up your messaging app.

You: Anyone awake?

You didn't really expect a response at this hour, but typing into the group chat felt better than sitting alone with your thoughts.

You: Izuku just called me crying. Yui asked for a divorce. You: He's asleep now but You: I don't know what I'm doing

You stared at the messages for a moment before adding:

You: I took a picture of him sleeping because I'm apparently that pathetic You: Going to delete it You: Eventually

Without your laptop, you were limited in what work you could do from your phone. You'd have to wait until morning to start the real crisis management, but you could at least make notes. After a moment's hesitation, you moved to Izuku's desk where his laptop sat. The password - AllMight1234 - was so predictable you almost laughed. Some things never changed.

You spent the next hour drafting potential press statements, occasionally glancing up to check on him.

Around 5 AM, your phone finally buzzed.

Katsuki: jfc are you still there? You: Yeah You: He fell asleep mid-crisis planning You: I should probably leave but I don't want him waking up alone Ochaco: Oh no, is he okay??? You: He's...processing You: I'm fine before you ask Katsuki: its 5am you disaster Katsuki: stop working Ochaco: When's the last time you slept? You: I was actually sleeping when he called You: But now I'm wired on convenience store coffee You: And there's so much to plan Katsuki: show us the picture you took Katsuki: you know you want to

You glanced at Izuku's sleeping form before responding:

You: No. Ochaco: Come on, share! Ochaco: You know we won't judge

After another moment's hesitation, you uploaded the photo to the chat.

Ochaco: Those CURLS Ochaco: He looks so peaceful Katsuki: you're so fucking gone for him Katsuki: it's embarrassing You: I should delete it Katsuki: but you won't You: ... You: I might You: Eventually Ochaco: Do you want me to come over? Ochaco: Make it less awkward You: Maybe You: Let me see how he is when he wakes up You: He might need space You: Or he might need people You: I just don't want him to feel alone Katsuki: you're overthinking again

On the couch, Izuku shifted slightly in his sleep, and you held your breath until he settled again.

You: He's dreaming You: Should I wake him if it seems like a nightmare? Katsuki: i stg Katsuki: you're hopeless Ochaco: Just stay with him Ochaco: He needs you right now Ochaco: Even if you won't admit why he called you first

The observation sat there, stark and honest. You stared at it, throat tight.

You: I have work to do Katsuki: running away again? Ochaco: We've got your back Ochaco: Both of you get some rest, okay? Katsuki: yeah what she said Katsuki: but with more swearing

Despite everything, you found yourself smiling slightly at your phone. You looked up at Izuku again, peaceful in sleep, completely unaware of the conversation happening about him.

You: I'm staying You: He shouldn't wake up alone You: Not today Katsuki: yeah Katsuki: we know

You set your phone aside and pulled his laptop closer, determination settling over you. You had press releases to draft, media strategies to plan, a whole narrative to construct. That's what you were good at—taking chaos and making it manageable, turning mess into order.

Everything else—the way moonlight played across his features, the photo burning a hole in your phone, the weight of unspoken feelings—that could wait.

It had waited this long, after all.

#damage control #bnha imagine #mha imagine #izuku midoriya imagine #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #deku x reader

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12raccoonsinadress · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! So I'd like to request a Tenya Iida x Fem! Reader fic. Where the reader is friends with Tenya until Tenya walks in on Reader getting dressed and it leads to smut and fluff after?

Sensible Choices: Tenya x Fem!Reader (Smut)

Woo! Here's the longest one I've done in a while! Hope it was worth the wait ~💚

Art Cred: Ari Libella (arilibella.artstation.com)

Word Count: 5,280

Third POV

Tenya and you made very good friends. In a world where things were so confusing and uncertain, where nearly everyone had some society altering ability and villains could attack at any time, he made sense. To you, he was uncomplicated. You both valued things like routine, education, and wanting the world to be a safer place. So to others, the two of you being together was a very logical idea, even if only as friends and colleagues. You never really assessed how you felt about Tenya, leaving those thoughts to poke at you when you laid in bed at night, but still left ignored. He was one of your closest friends, and you wouldn't ruin that over what you deemed a silly crush. You couldn't handle the idea of him turning you down and losing him as a friend. He was too integrated into your routine.

Part of your weekly routine was studying with Tenya in your dorm on Friday evenings between dinner and curfew. Responsible as always, he made sure to have his things and be out at least 30 minutes before curfew started, just in case you needed to do anything before bed. Tonight was another one of those useful, but otherwise unnoteworthy study sessions. The two of you mostly worked on your math homework, tackling some of the more tricky lessons in the coming week's test. Between the two of you, it started to make sense.

As you closed the textbook for the evening, you stood up, stretching.

"It looks like it's getting late."

You noted. He checked his watch, closing his textbook as well.

"It seems so. I suppose I should be heading out then."

He stood now as well, gathering his things. You watched as he did, humming slightly.

"You'll have to let me know what you score on the test."

"I'm sure we'll both do well."

He said, turning to you with a smile.

"And if not, we can always go back and review what we missed."

You smiled too. He was so positive when it came to school work, it was a bit infectious. You usually didn't feel too strongly about homework or testing, but he still managed to make the entire thing seem more satisfying to you. You couldn't remember a time before him where you actually looked forward to studying.

He went over to your door, turning back once, briefly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Y/n. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Tenya."

You felt a slight warmth in your chest as he stepped out. His smile was so sweet. It always filled you with such nice feelings. You didn't choose to dwell on that too much longer though. Instead, you turned your attention to changing into your pajamas and getting ready for bed. You went to your dresser, pulling out your pajamas, laying them neatly on the bed before beginning to undress.

Tenya was hardly halfway to his dorm when he reached for his phone and realized he didn't have it. He didn't think much of it, other than that he must've left it sitting on your desk. He turned heel and began back to your dorm.

Tenya was mostly sure his feelings for you were platonic, no different from the ways he thought about Ochako or Izuku. Then again, he never caught himself wondering how soft Ochako's lips were, or feel a swell of pride in his chest when making Izuku laugh. These things seemed specific to you. He tried to ignore it for the most part. After all, he was your friend, and you were his. His prettiest, most intelligent, and sweetest friend. Nothing more. At least, that's what he told himself.

It didn't register that more than a moment had passed between him closing the door and opening it again, which is probably why it didn't even cross his mind to knock before entering your room.

"Y/n, it seems I left my..."

His voice died in his throat as he saw you. How could it not have? You were standing there, topless, in nothing more than your panties, sleep shirt in hands. His eyes grew wide and his face turned red, mirroring the expression on your own face. The door quickly slammed shut, but it was too late. He'd seen you, nearly naked, and that brief moment was all it took for the image to be burned into his mind.

You quickly got dressed, nearly tripping over yourself as you did. You couldn't believe it. He saw you practically naked. It made your entire body flush red with embarrassment. You wanted to simply die in that moment, just so you'd never have to face him again. You wondered what in the world he could be thinking now. And the slightly dirtier thought, creeping into your mind from the pits of your stomach, you wondered what he thought about what he saw.

He stood on the other side of your door for a long moment, holding it shut as if it would somehow hold his own mind at bay. His first thought was noting how beautiful your body was, immediately followed by a heavy feeling of shame in even indulging the thought. It was completely inappropriate and he shouldn't entertain such devious things. He left to his dorm, not willing to attempt a second retrieval of his phone. He didn't need it badly enough to face you right now. He closed himself in his dorm and sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, silently. The first thing he'd have to do when he saw you again would be to beg for forgiveness for barging in. And if you were so upset you didn't want to talk to him, it was completely warranted and he'd take any repercussions without argument. He should have knocked. Without question.

Though against his own will, he laid awake that night thinking about you.

Aside from getting his phone back, you and Tenya avoided each other for the following days. Neither of you really knew how to address what had happened, but at the same time it was too awkward to talk without addressing it. The week felt like a year. Occasionally, you'd glance over at him in class, and almost every time you'd see him look away from you. You quickly looked back to the front of the room or at your work, trying not to think too much about why he could be staring. Maybe he was trying to think about how to talk to you again. Maybe he wanted to apologize, but wasn't sure how. ... Maybe he was undressing you with his eyes.

It was getting harder to ignore your crush on Tenya. It was like the more you avoided one another, the more you longed for him. You wanted to imagine he liked what he saw. So much that he couldn't bare to face you. It sounded silly in your mind, and yet the thoughts ebbed into your day dreams more and more as the week went on. If only you knew how right you were.

He'd essentially fashioned his own personal hell by seeing you naked. He couldn't find the right way to apologize to you, so he had to avoid talking to you until he did. He didn't want to lie to you either. Your body was beautiful, but he couldn't say that. He wished he could have seen you under more consensual circumstances, but he definitely couldn't say that. Even with all the attempts to come up with a good apology, he couldn't stop imagining it. Imagining you standing there in those cute little panties and nothing else. It made evenings... difficult to say the least. He wouldn't touch himself though. No matter how much he ached for some kind of relief. As your friend, as someone who respects you so much, he couldn't touch himself while imagining your body. Not without permission. Which he was most certain he didn't have.

Soon enough, but also what felt like twelve years later, it was Friday evening. You paced. Now is when you and Tenya would be studying together. It was almost impossible for you to focus on studying on your own when all you could think about was how incomplete it felt. This wasn't the routine. It was all wrong. You couldn't study in these conditions. You were just about to text him when you heard a knock on your door. You went and opened it.

There before you was a very nervous Tenya, his backpack held by his side. He wouldn't look at you.

"If you aren't busy, I think we need to talk. I also brought my school work, in case you'd rather study instead."

He said, almost uncomfortable. You let him in and he looked at you now, expectant. As much as you wish things could be normal and the two of you could just go over the test from that week, you knew it was time to talk about what happened.

"We should probably talk.."

He walked in, saw you, and left. It didn't feel like you could say much about it personally to start the conversation. Thankfully, you didn't have to. He dropped his bag on the floor before bowing about as deeply as he could without dropping to his knees.

"I'm so incredibly sorry, Y/n! I didn't even think to knock at the time, but that is absolutely no excuse for barging in on you! If you feel it necessary to report me for my inappropriate behavior, I'll accept whatever punishment I am given with no argument!"

You looked at him wide eyed for a moment, surprised by the sudden outburst. You expected an apology, but it hadn't even crossed your mind to report him.

"Tenya, I'm not going to report you. It was an accident."

He looked up now, standing upright again. He looked almost panicked or confused.

"What? Surely you don't think such unbecoming behavior is appropriate."

"I mean, it wasn't polite to not knock and, um, it was sort of embarrassing for me, but it wasn't really inappropriate."

This didn't seem to make him relax. If anything it seemed like he got more tense in response.

"You don't understand. I saw you naked-"

You blushed, not getting why he was being so insistant.

"You don't need to remind me-"

"I shouldn't have seen you like that. It was private. I should be punished for the way it's made me think about you."

The words seemed to rush out faster than he could process them, but once they were out, he froze. He hadn't meant to say that much, but you were being so calm, so sweet. Such a good friend. Too good for they way he'd imagined holding your bare body against his.

"What do you mean by that, Tenya?"

He swallowed hard, looking at the floor, ashamed. He was a horrible friend. You deserved to know that. He was a pervert, and you should be able to report him as such.

"I... I haven't been able to purge the image of you from my mind. It's all I've been able to think about. I wish I had found a way of telling you how beautiful you were before this."

His fists clenched, head still hung in shame. You blushed. He was admitting to having fulfilled your smutty little desires. He had been thinking about your body. He wanted it. He continued, his voice more tense.

"Anything I say now will be tainted by the countless filthy thoughts I've had of you. Between my perverted day dreams, I've only just realized how much I care for you, not only as my friend, but as the person I want to wake to every morning and fall asleep beside every night. Not just because of how beautiful you are, but because this week has been torture without you by my side."

You stepped closer to him, only to see he had tears in his eyes. It made your heart ache. You reached up and held his face.

"I don't deserve your sweetness. Not after proving I'm such a terrible friend. If you can't trust me now, why would you ever even begin trust me as a lover?"

Lover. He was so tense, even compared to how tense he normally was. You couldn't imagine what this week had done to him with all this guilt. He was practically falling apart, and for what? Accidentally seeing you naked? So you did what any logical person would do in your situation. You kissed him. It was soft, gentle. You felt the wetness of his tears in your hands. He didn't pull away from you, as you had almost expected. His arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace and he kissed you back. You held the kiss longer than you had intended. It felt like he needed this. And maybe you did too. You had missed him, and what could have made for a better reunion after such a stressful week? Eventually, when you pulled away for air, he loosened his hold of you.

"I.. Y/n, I don't understand."

"You weren't the only one having dirty thoughts this week, Tenya. I forgive you."

He blushed, more than a little surprised. You decided to elaborate.

"I was definitely embarrassed, but at the same time, I really hoped you liked what you saw."

You admitted. He seemed a little concerned.

"Was there any doubt in your mind that I wouldn't? You're gorgeous, how could I not?"

"Not really doubt. I just hoped you liked what you saw enough to think about me a little more."

You tried to explain in the least perverted way possible. He glanced away, thinking.

"As long as we're being honest. I'll admit that the memory of you gave me some, ah, uncomfortable evenings. Just to say, you have nothing to worry about."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yes. Thinking about you, your body, in a quite... erotic way. But, of course I couldn't do something as disrespectful as relieve myself while thinking about you. I'm already ashamed to have indulged in my thoughts of you as much as I had."

On one hand, it was incredibly sweet that he suffered as much as he did out of wanting to be respectful towards you. At the same time, however, you wouldn't have complained at all if he had gotten off thinking about you. You would have taken it as a compliment. You bit the inside of your lip, thinking.

"Thinking about me all this week got you that worked up, but you still haven't touched yourself?"

You asked, clarifying almost. He blushed a dark red, but nodded in confirmation.

"I'm sure you're awfully pent up."

He looked at you. You were trying to tell him something, he was sure of it. He just wasn't sure what yet. You continued.

"I just want you to know, for future reference, you have full permission to touch yourself while thinking of me."

His eyes lit up, like you'd suddenly taken all suffering off his shoulders.

"You mean it? You're completely sure?"

"I am. But, only if I'm allowed to think of you too."

Truthfully, you tried to avoid the thought, but now that you knew he liked you so much, you wanted to indulge.

"You want to think about me while pleasuring yourself?"

He asked, voice somewhat softer. He didn't understand.

"I haven't done anything particularly scandalous around you to fuel thoughts of that nature though... Have I?"

"You didn't have to. I'll think of you regardless."

You definitely planned to at least. It felt dirty just talking about it, but so exciting. You gathered he felt the same way based on the color of his face. He was thinking.

"That hardly seems fair. Surely, there's something you could ask of me to make things more even."

That was a tempting offer. You pursed your lips, thinking. A very filthy idea came to mind.

"You could always return the favor.. and I wouldn't mind letting you look for a little longer."

You suggested. He buffered for a moment, processing the absolutely scandalous thing you just suggested. It was beyond filthy and he should say no, especially not in the dorms. You were seniors. You were supposed to lead by example. And yet...

"That seems fair. I would appreciate getting more time to admire you."

"Why don't you start then."

He nodded. It was only fair. An equal trade. So he pulled away from you now. You sat on the edge of your bed, watching him. He took a deep breath before taking off his shirt. This part wasn't too hard, you'd seen him shirtless before. The context made him feel a bit strange though. He looked at you, assessing your reaction. He blushed when he did. You were so obviously staring, then again he supposed that was the point. Still, the way your eyes seemed to trace over his body made his heart pound.

"Should I continue?"

He asked. In part he was nervous. He'd never undressed around a girl before. The other half of him was excited, more than he should be, at the prospect of you lusting for him. You nodded, leaning back a little.

"If you're comfortable continuing."

He couldn't for certain tell if he was comfortable per say, but he knew he wanted to make things even with you. Not to mention the other feelings. So he did. He unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. There was a moment of hesitation. He looked at you.

"You intend on undressing as well, right?"

It felt odd being the only one, but it probably felt worse for you when it happened last time, since you hadn't agreed to being seen that way. And maybe he was also just eager. You pursed your lips, thinking for a moment.

"You first. We'll take turns."

You wanted to enjoy the show. It'd be too distracting to try undressing while also trying to watch him. Though blushing, he decided to finish, taking his pants off and setting them aside. He looked at you now. He felt completely naked, despite still being in his boxers. It was a strangely exciting feeling. You stood up after a moment, walking over to him. You didn't touch, as much as you wanted to.

"You can sit if you'd prefer."

You said simply. In the spirit of making things fair, he did go and sit where you had been sitting, focusing more on you now than the tinge of embarrassment he felt from being undressed.

You took off your shirt, though you decided you'd keep your bra on for the time being. You felt your heart pounding at just how strange this whole situation was. You didn't question it for now, pushing your pants down and stepping out of them. You kicked them off to the side, looking at Tenya now. His eyes were fixated on you and your body. You could see the subtle heaviness to his breathing. His hands fidgeted slightly. That wasn't the only thing you noticed as you looked him over though. You had noted the bulge in his boxers before, assuming it was just the way they fit and nothing more. It was more pronounced now, bigger. It made you blush harder than you already were.

It was tense for a moment, both of you looking at each other, but not moving. He was the one to finally say something, his voice almost sounded ragged.

"Y/n, would it be too much to ask if I could touch you?"

You were a little surprised by the requests, but even so you stepped forward, standing in front of him. He looked up at you from where he was sat on your bed. Gently, and without a word, you reached for his hands and brought them to your waist. His touches were soft, just trailing along your sides, feeling how your skin felt against his hands. They found their way to your hips, resting there. You didn't know what all you had expected, but it was more than that. You had expected him to reach up to your chest, maybe back around to your ass, or just something pushing things a little further. You weren't completely underwhelmed however. After a moment, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your abdomen.

"I wish I could find the right way to tell you how beautiful you are. Just saying it doesn't feel like enough."

He said softly, not looking up at you. You ran your fingers through his hair, an action that seemed to be enough to bring his attention up to your face. He was being too respectful, holding back when the deepest parts of your desires wanted him to snap, to take you, to ravage you. You knew he wouldn't. He was your kind, respectful Tenya. So you leaned down and kissed him, delighting in how the action made him squeeze your hips tighter in response as he kissed you back. You pushed into him more, and he pulled you in happily, helping you fit in his lap with his arms around your waist. You ran the tip of your tongue against his lips and he took the hint to deepen the kiss, taking control of it and keeping it gentle.

When you finally had to break the kiss to breathe, he looked at you in awe. You spoke before he did.

"If it's not too much, I'd much rather indulge in you now than have to wait until later."

"Are you suggesting we have sex?"

He asked, almost baffled. You nodded, though a little embarrassed about how he reacted.

"It doesn't have to be all the way, if you don't want it to be."

"What about you? And what about protection?"

He knew he didn't keep condoms around. Truth be told, he didn't foresee himself needing them any time soon.

"I've been on birth control since first year."

"Why?"

"Um. Period problems."

He wasn't as put off by the response as you expected, just thinking now. Something seemed to change after a moment, like a new sense of confidence had hit him.

"Alright then. Y/n, I would be honored for you to be the first person I have sex with."

Your heart skipped hearing that, despite the slight silliness in how serious he sounded. You smiled.

"I would be honored for you to be my first too, Tenya."

He smiled wide. You practically melted. His hands moved up your sides.

"If we're continuing, may I remove this as well?"

He asked, referring to your bra. You nodded. Before you could reach back to help, he was already fumbling with the hooks. You let him for a little bit. It was cute to see him try at least. Eventually, he seemed to figure it out, sighing a bit in relief.

"It would appear I'm going to be needing more practice with these."

You laughed softly, sliding the straps off your shoulders.

"There will be time for that in the future."

He blushed at the mere implications of not just getting to be with you once, but again in the future. It would mean you were really his. That he was really yours. He didn't get to think about that too much though because now your exposed chest was right there in his face and he probably couldn't even tell you what his name was anymore. You guided his hands up to your chest, wanting to let him touch, wanting to feel his hands on all of your more sensitive spots. He immediately started to squeeze and pinch, leaning forward to kiss and lick as well. For someone so new at this, he seemed to know exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was to feel and taste you. His tongue laved over your nipple, his hand squeezing your other breast. You gasped softly.

With nothing but your panties and his boxers to serve as a buffer, you could feel how hard he was, pressing against you. As a finger flicked one of your nipples, your hips instinctively pushed forward, grinding into him. He groaned quietly at the feeling. You huffed, head falling back slightly. You felt his hands move, one staying firm on your hip. You took that moment to catch your breath and regain some of your composure. It was short lived as you realized what he'd been doing. He lifted you with ease, laying you on your back on the bed. He'd been thinking about how he wanted you. He pulled your panties off of you, eyes trained on your face, looking for any sign he should stop. The only clue he received one way or the other was you spreading your legs for him once they were off.

You weren't sure what you expected, maybe for him to start working you open so he could properly fuck you. Which you would be completely and utterly happy with. It seemed he had other plans though as he leaned down, hiking your legs over his broad shoulders. You covered your mouth as he buried his face between your legs. His tongue seemed to follow some sort of pattern that you couldn't quite follow, occasionally brushing your clit and making you squirm. It seemed the sensitive spot didn't go unnoticed, because he focused there for a moment, and when you started to push your hips against his face and whine beneath him, he knew he must've found a good spot. His attention stayed there, toying with your clit with his tongue for as long as you could bare it. You could feel your orgasm building up, though you weren't sure he realized. You moaned out a little louder, which seemed to encourage him more. Your hand reached down into his hair, tugging slighting. You gasped, body tensing as you came on his face. He worked you through it and maybe a little longer than he needed to before pulling up, the lower half of his face wet from you.

"I could stay there forever if you'd let me."

He said, slightly out of breath. You reached for him, wanting him to come closer. You wanted him to lay beside you so you could return the favor and move. He gently took your hand, but didn't fully come to you as you wanted. Instead, he spoke in a low tone you hadn't heard him use before.

"If I may make a request, I don't want you to do the same."

You looked at him, confused. He continued.

"If you can manage it, I've spent nights now imagining how gorgeous you'd look riding me."

He hoped it wasn't asking too much of you. After seeing your breasts, he couldn't help but imagine the way they'd bounce while you bounced in his lap. It was a perverted fantasy, but one he still wanted to see fulfilled if you'd have him. You blushed fairly dark, but pulled him down. He let you this time, laying beside you. You kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips before straddling his lap. You wanted him, and he wanted you too. So why not satisfy you both?

He watched you in awe as you lined him up with you. You felt the tip press against your opening and how it slid in with more ease than you expected. No wonder he wanted to eat you out first. It got you worked up enough to take him. He groaned, grabbing a hold of your hips. You had to steady your breathing as you slowly started to take more of him. It was a stretch, though one you took like such a good girl. You stopped, almost fully down, wanting to take a second. Without a thought, he couldn't help but help you finish out, thrusting up into you. You let something between a gasp and a moan out.

"I'm sorry-"

He said quickly. He was so excited for you, so needy, it was hard to control himself. But he would. He didn't want to hurt you, especially while you were fulfilling his perverted fantasies. You had to take a moment before moving, pulling about half off before slowly sinking back down onto him. He watched you as you moved, loving the sight of your beautiful body taking his cock so well. You started to gradually increase your pace, moaning softly as you did. Before long, all you could hear were the sounds of your own moans, his quiet noises, and the slapping of you bouncing in his lap, just like he wanted.

You felt your orgasm building. You had hoped to get him off first, but it was hard for you to tell if he was getting as close as you were. Your movements started to slow, much to your own distress. He caught on, holding your hips tight and fucking up into you faster than the pace you had set before. You cried out his name, head falling back, inner walls squeezing around him as he continued to fuck you through it. It didn't take much more than that for him to pull you down, pushing into you as deeply as he could, and cum inside of you. Your name came out in a tight stutter as he did.

You both stayed like that for a long moment, taking in what had just happened, breathing in the now still room. You fell forward, laying on top of him. He wrapped his arms around you.

"Y/n."

He whispered. You looked up at him.

"I.. apologies for the way I went about all of this. And even though it would appear we've done things somewhat out of order, I was hoping you would... be my partner?"

You smiled, kissing him gently.

"I'd love to be your partner."

He smiled too.

"Perfect."

He pulled out of you now, making you both sigh at the feeling.

"Lay here and relax. Let me get things cleaned up."

He laid you down on the bed gently, getting up and going to your desk to get some tissues to clean everything up. After that, he pulled his boxers on and went over to your dresser. He pulled out a new pair of panties for you and a sleep shirt. He brought them back over to the bed. You went to get up so you could get dressed, but he stopped you.

"No, allow me. You've done enough tonight."

You blushed, but let him pull the shirt over your head and slide the panties up your legs. He placed the clothes you'd been wearing before in your hamper. He took a moment, thinking before looking back at you.

"Do you want me to go downstairs and get you water or anything else?"

He offered. You held out your arms for him.

"Come here, Tenya."

He smiled softly.

"Allow me to turn off the lights then."

He did as you asked now, coming back over to the bed. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him back into bed with you. He didn't argue, wrapping his arms around you as well, rubbing your back gently. He kissed the top of your head.

"I'm glad you forgave me."

He said softly. You couldn't help but smile.

"Of course, my love."

You felt him heat up at you calling him that.

"My love."

He repeated quietly, holding you a little tighter. You snuggled into him more, letting yourself get comfortable so you could sleep. Tonight wore you out and you were looking forward to waking up in the arms of not just your best friend, but your boyfriend and the love of your life.

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