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trashforbarzal · 1 day ago

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It’s You. ╰┈➤ AS37

summary: when your best friend needs a fake girlfriend for his cousins wedding, you are the girl he claims is his. after all, what’s the worse than can happen? well, after sharing a bed, an awkward conversation about sex with his family and an unexpected kiss, you and andrei are forced to confront feelings you thought you had been repressing.

[word count] 10.9k

a/n: the end of 2024, I put out a poll asking which players you wanted to see my write for (that I haven’t done yet) and svechy was one of the players you guys wanted to see! so I hope you guys love this 💋 this uses some scenes from a no-longer published fic—if it looks familiar, that’s because it is ❤️

🎵 perfect places by lorde, scared of my guitar by olivia rodrigo, must be nice by ruel, breakfast in bed by nessa barrett, carry you home by alex warren, it's you by zayn, best friends by 5 seconds of summer, delicate by taylor swift, + always been you by shawn mendes

andrei already knows that it's not the brightest idea he's ever had. actually, refrain that, it's quite possibly the worst idea he's ever had.

it's just—the idea passed through his system and fell out of his mouth before he could even blink. andrei's mother and aunt had practically ambushed him on a three way call just over three weeks ago—8 a.m in russia, 1 a.m. in carolina—which already had him in a frazzle. but then they immediately started asking about the dreaded (dreaded for andrei, more so than anyone else, obviously) plus one attached to his cousins wedding invitation.

the wedding that yes, was in fact only three weeks away. and a plus one attachment that andrei still hadn't confirmed or denied if he needed. because according to his very empty left side of the bed, and the singular toothbrush on his bathroom counter, andrei svechnikov is very much single and very much not needing a plus one.

but it just came out before he could stop it.

‘of course i'll be bringing someone to the wedding mama and tetr! in fact, i'll be bringing my girlfriend!’

and know here he is, 2 hours into an 18 hour flight from raleigh to his hometown in a first class seat that, despite its expanse of leg room, feels all too small. it's suffocating for no other reason than his own doing and sneakiness that he’s drowning in.

because you're next to him, happy and sipping on your third glass of champagne—skin radiating heat with the bubbly alcohol running through your bloodstream. you're halfway to tipsy and somehow completely oblivious to the way andrei's shoulders are still tight and ridged, something that normally subsides after take off.

as far as you know—because it's what your best friend told you, mind you—you're attending andrei's cousins wedding as his best friend. because since 2019, where you meet the russian hurricanes rookie downtown at a shitty dive bar playing music far too loud, you and andrei have been just that. best friends.

you suppose the friendship blossomed because of your common interests of sports and adam sandler movies and how the smell of coconut is one of your favourite things in the entire world. or perhaps it was your differences that had you and andrei forming such a strong friendship.

you hate rollercoasters, but andrei loves them.

you love tequila, but when andrei drinks tequila he ends up with his head inside a toilet bowl.

you would rather eat rubber than an olive, but andrei puts olives on everything he eats—much to his dietary staffs displeasure. salt is a killer people.

regardless, the both of you bonded over shitty honey garlic wings served with a side of ranch—sauce on the side per your request, to which he called you a weirdo for. whatever—and became fast friends.

so obviously three weeks ago when andrei asked if you wanted to come to the wedding so he, you and quote, 'doesn't have to be alone while he young cousins force him to play around the yard, and his distant family talks his ear off the entire weekend,' you easily complied. you booked the time off work that afternoon before leaving the office without so much as a second thought.

but andrei didn't tell you why he needed you to join him. not the real reason anyways. because what? he's just supposed to say, 'oh by the way, this weekend I need you to be my fake girlfriend because I told my family that's what we have become. boyfriend and fucking girlfriend.'

yeah, unfucking likely. and andrei knows that you're not going to kill him over his little lie. that's just not you. he's also sure that if he was truthful from the beginning with you, you would've agreed to the whole fake in love act with the snap of a finger. because you're giving and caring and so damn compassionate that it's almost sickly.

but andrei just couldn't. he kept pushing the truth back, telling himself that the moment would come and that’s when he would come clean. but now you're both on the plane to russia, wedding just a few days away, and you still have no idea that in 16 hours you're going to be sharing a bed and holding hands and maybe even needing to show a few kisses.

god, it's a mess.

"do you feel sick?" your smooth voice breaks andrei out of his stress whirling thoughts, lifting his palm off his sweaty forehead like he's been caught stealing candy. it's then when andrei realizes he audibly groaned out loud, which obviously did it’s part in grabbing your attention.

he swallows and sends you an unconvincing smile. "no, i'm fine." andrei feels sick alright, just not in the way you're picturing.

you blink like a baby deer at him from over the adjustable wall between your scoop like seats—your champagne glass abandoned on the fold away table in favour of clutching the edge of the wall between your manicured fingers.

a pout pulls at your lips before you reach out, touching his forehead with the back of your hand. "are you warm?"

andrei jerks back, worried that you’ll notice the misting of sweat dusting his hairline. "no, what? I'm fine, y/n."

you send him a skeptical look, "you look like you're about to blow chunks everywhere."

"that's gross."

"it's true," you chime. a beat passes, your gaze never wavering from andrei's wound up, tight expression, while the plane continues to easily glide through the clouds.

you take your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing on the plump skin until it will undoubtedly go raw. andrei has to stop himself from reaching over to pull your lip out with his thumb.

"are you mad about something? nervous?" you push, determined to get your best friend to spill regardless of how tightly wound up he is. and obviously you've noticed that he's been a little...off, for lack of a better word, the past three weeks. andrei is your best friend, of course you noticed.

but you know better than to push him, and that andrei will open up when he's ready—like usual. but the champagne floating around in your head has your tongue slipping, and curiosity has gotten the best of you.

"is it something I did?" you swallow, something tentative in your tone that makes andrei's belly clench with guilt.

"no," he breathes before running a calloused hand down the front of his flushed face. andrei looks back over to you, eyes flickering between your wide and sad ones, and he just breaks. "I fucked up."

ever amused by his dramatics, you quirk a brow at his distress. the drunk haze has you unable to see his actual, very real, distress. "you get the sushi from that airport kiosk after I went to the bathroom, didn't you?"

but it's then —when andrei looks over at you with a guilt ridden, pouty raw lip, that you blink. hard. a wave of hot sweat rushing over your skin as every possible problem arises in your body.

andrei mutters your name in that deep, gravelly way and you think you might be the one who ends up puking.

"what is it?" you swallow, "what happened? are you okay?"

he groans again, no less dramatic than the previous display, head falling back against the plush first class cushioned head rest, giving himself a nice view of the hard plastic roof above.

andrei thinks back to the phone call with his family—more specifically, how pleased they sounded when he told them that you were the girl he was bringing home.

you, the girl he's cared for since before he could string a cohesive english scentence together.

you, the girl who his mom facetimes more than she facetimes her own son.

you, the best friend his family has had the pleasure of falling in love with and accepting as one of their own. but left disappointed when andrei said, no, nothings there between you.

just friends.

it's too late to back out now—for obvious reasons, clearly—but also for the fact that he can't take this away from his family now. not when his mother had said she's been waiting for the two of you to fall in love.

so fall in love you must. even if it's fake.

andrei's head lols against the headrest over in your direction, and he gulps slowly, adam's apple bobbing largely. before he can chicken out and do something crazy like jump out of the emergency exit, andrei's lips part with hesitation.

"we have to pretend to be in love," he pauses, "like in love."

at first you just blink at him, face completely flat and void of emotion, and then every so subtly, your brows draw together. "...why?"

"I just," andrei hesitates like he's not quite sure exactly what to say to you. he chalks it up to the way your soft eyes are unwavering—patient, even—and that's the reason andrei just spews.

he tells you everything. from the wedding invitation with the accompanying plus one he got in the mail a year prior, and all the way through the conversation with his mom and his aunt just a few weeks ago. the taunting plus one and lack of girlfriend that just bubbled up in his chest until the lie just fell off his tongue.

andrei takes a much needed inhale, his cheeks flushed like a little boys in the summer heat. "and when my mom asked for my girlfriends name...I don't know? you were the first person I thought of."

you nod after a beat, every so slightly that andrei is not sure if he's imagining it. you fall back into the large seat with a fluttering sigh, "oh fuck."

andrei can't help the disbelief laced laughter that rumbles through his broad chest, because, yeah, oh fuck is right.

you turn to look at him, face a little less flushed than the last time you did.

"if it makes you feel any better," he continues awkwardly, scratching the spot next to his heart like a nervous habit. "my mom was really excited that we're together now."

"andrei."

he winces, "are you mad at me?"

the question prompts a flash of deja vu from meer minutes ago, when the question was flipped between you. "no," you tell him after a beat, running a clammy hand over your untamed hair. "i'm just...trying to digest it all."

"right, of course." andrei swallows and sits up straighter in his seat, "and I know i'm springing this on you very last fucking minute. but i've already figured it all out, and i've got some sort of a game plan for us."

"a game plan?"

"yeah," he nods, "I've called it the 'andrei and y/n love affair 2025.'"

"that's good," you gulp, pulling your knees up against your chest. your matching cream sweat set all blends together in this position, and andrei thinks you look like a cute marshmallow—but he chooses to not verbalize that right now, because it may just push you over the edge.

even though right now, you're surprisingly calm and it's kind of freaking him out even further.

you continue, "I hope you have this said love affair plan written down because we really gotta figure this out before we get to russia."

instinctively his chocolate eyes flicker towards the map screen, stealing a glance at the ETA of the touchdown. andrei looks back at you, "oh, we've got time."

for the next hour and forty five minutes, you and andrei go through every possible nook and cranny of your fake relationship and nail it down. from the beginning right until the very end, the plan has been polished and repeated between you over 20 times. each.

throughout the conversation you started to come a little more to. it helped that andrei asked if you were okay every fifteen seconds—which any other time may be a little annoying—but right now, you accept his persistent with open arms.

knowing that he feels bad about the situation is enough, even though you could never actually be mad at him. not over something as simple as this. the amount of times andrei has picked your drunk ass up from a variety of different carolina bars over the years—or took care of you the next morning—let's just say you definitely owe him a favour or two.

besides, it's not like you're really worried about faking a romantic relationship with andrei. most of the time it feels like andrei is already your boyfriend, just without the kissing and…stuff. now that's making you a bit nervous. but you digress.

you've both had a few glasses of champagne now, allowing yourselves to relax a bit more—which was much needed. it also allows your usual banter and teasing to return between you and andrei, hushed laughter falling from your lips under the dim lights of the cabin.

"so," you muse, a little slurred. "when did you realize you liked me?"

"you're ridiculous," andrei snorts, earning a cautious look from the old lady on the other side of the plane. neither of you notice.

"what," you laugh, "i'm prepping you for the questions." you reach over and push his thick thigh with the tips of your fingers. he barley budges.

"'nobody is going to ask me that." andrei counters teasingly, nudging you back.

"they might!" you counter, a teasing smile still tugging at your lips, a sight that has andrei following suit with his own boyish grin.

"if they ask...i'll say," he pauses, making you wait with half baited breath, tucked under the first class blankets that andrei always thinks feel like toothbrush bristles. andrei shrugs casually, "i'll say always."

your head whips in his direction from where you previously started to flip through the dinner menu—always so easily distracted—so fast that andrei gets a whiff of your raspberry shampoo. it's a pleasant smell, one that reminds him of coming home after a road trip to you sleeping on his apartment couch.

his words settle over your skin like a prickling whisper, and you blink a few times in surprise.

but then, like he didn't just say something so heartfelt and beautiful, turns towards the airplane dinner menu, humming thoughtfully as he reads the three options. "I think i'm gunna get the steak."

—

carefully, but with precision, you roll your shoulders, bones and vertebrae squeaking and cracking in—a much needed, mind you—protest.

you can still smell the lingering champagne and the scent of plane on your skin, and on andrei's as he walks back towards you from where’d he’d been in the heart of baggage claim, both of your suitcases in tow—wheels squeaking along the weathered floor tiles.

andrei looks all but awake as he raises his eyebrows in question, "all ready?"

you groan sleepily as a form of answer, raising your arms in a limb stretching pull, tank top risings and exposing your lower belly to the bustling airport. you removed your fluffy hoodie as soon as you stepped onto the hot, sticky tarmac and it's now sitting comfortably around your best friends broad shoulders, making him look like he belongs in a country club.

oddly enough it suits him—when you said that though he gave you a look.

despite the way andrei urges you along, he too is fighting exhaustion. changing time zones is always a struggle no matter how many times a year andrei does it, and this weekend trip is no exception. there's matching eye bags under both of your eyes, and even though andrei knows that his family is waiting for your arrival, all he wants to do is climb into his small double childhood bed and pass out.

and you're in the same boat it seems, ugg slippered feet dragging on the ground beside andrei as you both step onto the descending escalator—suitcases clinging annoyingly at the change of surface.

the ride down is held for nothing but the whirling sound of the machinery as you and andrei stay quiet. not only are you both on the brink of falling asleep while up right, but you're both so damn nervous about perfecting your plan that speaking about it will only make it worse.

and if you panic, andrei will panic and it will just go to shit.

so silence is good.

once you're stepping off the escalator and onto the ground level of the airport, andrei automatically places his large palm on your lower back, steadying you as you both make your way towards the large exit doors that lead to the even larger parking lot.

a parking lot that undeniably has his family waiting for the both of you. suddenly you’re wishing you guys just called and uber.

your heart flutters anxiously, feet coming to an abrupt stop at the thought of the days ahead. you're supposed to be a girlfriend from here on out, and that has your tongue molding into a sheet of sand paper.

once he notices you’ve stopped walking, andrei spins to look back at you, his brows pulled in the concerned way he always seems to have when it comes to your well being.

"do I look okay?" you ask frantically, running your hands over your oily, yet somehow also frizzy, hair.

"you look fine," andrei soothes, pulling your hands away from your head and holding both of your clammy hands in one of his. stupid giant boy. "stop playing with it though, or else we will really have a problem "

you send him a deadpan look. "you're not funny."

andrei grins despite the sleep lacing his expression. he easily tugs you back into his side as you both begin to short walk towards the doors. finally. "you're right. i'm actually hilarious."

you roll your eyes and push the door open, a wave of heat washing over your already dewy skin and making you feel a bit woozy. andrei reaches over your head and pushes it open further, holding the door and allowing you to easily slip outside.

he continues, "you don't need to be nervous, y/n. you've met my family before and they are already obsessed with you." andrei makes a noise between an amused scoff and a laugh, "my mom texted me yesterday and said she's already changed your contact name to, future daughter in law."

"jesus christ," you exhale shakily, pressing a hand to your forehead. your eyes flicker up to his, "don't say that or i'll start feeling bad."

andrei holds off from smirking, "don't feel bad."

"too late."

"hey, just stop for a second." andrei gently takes ahold of your wrist, his index finger automatically stroking the outer part of your forearm. you know he's doing it to calm you, but unfortunately it only turns your stomach flutters up to a maximum.

andrei swallows, and all signs of his playfulness from mere seconds ago fades. his eyes swim with sincerity as he continues, "if this is too much just tell me and i'll handle it. I don't care if my mom whoops me with her shoe—if you're uncomfortable with this plan, i'll make sure it doesn't move forward."

you blink before managing to give one firm shake of your head. obviously you're nervous, but not enough to ruin your best friends entire trip. not over this. "i'm fine."

he looks skeptical, "promise me?"

"we're not 5." you deadpan.

"promise me."

you sigh—a mixture of reluctance and amusement. "I promise. i'm just...nervous. and overthinking everything. i’ll be fine once I get some sleep."

andrei's response comes easily, like he doesn't even need to think about reassuring you. "that's okay. just be you." he squeezes your wrist. "seriously."

your lips part in an attempt to deflect the wave of tenderness rushing between you and andrei—some sarcastic remark about him becoming a softly, surely. but the excitable gasp from across the surprisingly calm parking lot halts you.

"andrei!" his mothers voice is full of excitement as elena svechnikov bounces on her heels. both you and andrei look towards the commotion and find not only his mother, but his father, igor, and for some reason the family dog.

your best friend grumbles under his breath. "oh god."

you squint through the sunshine reflecting on the cars and distorting your vision. "is that a sign?"

he matches your squinty expression, even going as fair to shield his eyes from the sun with his gigantic hand. "that's definitely a sign."

his mother, ever to sweetest lady—seriously like purse candy, shirt of her back, treats you like her own kind of sweet—is clutching a piece of red and black decorated bristol board. canes colours obviously. a big and bold font that says welcome home smack dab in the middle.

you're pretty sure there are even a few pictures of you and andrei accompanying the words.

andrei's shoulders fall in what is probably exhaustion and the act of giving up. his eyes flicker towards your side profile, a careful expression on his face as he asses yours.

"we got this," you mutter after a beat, squinting through the blistering sun and away from his parents—up at your best friend.

"I hope so." without another passing second, andrei interlocks your fingers together, a soft yet confident smile overtaking his face as he pulls you both across the parking lot and in the direction of his family.

you don't even register the feeling of his hand in yours until his mother is greeting you both happily, pulling you into a bone crushing embrace that has the potential to crack your ribs.

"wow mom," andrei snickers playfully, ruffling the dogs overrun head of curls as it jumps up his thighs. "you must love y/n more than me if you’re greeting her first."

elena waves of his teasing before pulling andrei into a hug that mimics the one you just received. andries father gives you a polite hug and then takes one of the suitcases andrei wheeled up to the side of the car.

"how was the flight?" his mom questions, eyes darting between you both with the upmost twinkle of curiosity.

"long," you breathe a laugh.

andrei grins, "but we were fine. lots of talking to pass the time."

you shoot him a look, and andrei winks at you in response.

this guy.

registering your voice, the family dog bounds towards you next, its chubby legs and paws scratching at your legs, tail wagging happily while it pants up at you—clearly seeking affection. affection that you're happy to provide. always a sucker for animals, you crouch down and scrub behind the dogs ears. it earns you a satisfied rumble from its tiny body.

"you guys are definitely tired," elena clicks her tongue in displeasure, running a knuckle over her sons cheek like he’s a kid. "let's get you two home."

she gently pets your head before making sure her husband is packing the luggage in the car correctly—even though igor claims there's no correct way to pack a trunk. andrei's mother begs to differ.

the dog follows in her footsteps, leaving you. with a sigh, you place your hands on your knees and push up from your crouched position.

clearly you should've checked how close andrei was standing behind you, because your proximity has you completely grinding your ass against his crotch as you move to stand.

you gasp as andrei lets out a gentle grunt.

"sorry!" you wince quietly, but before you can move away, andrei arm wraps around your waist, fingers flexing against your lower stomach as he pulls you back into his chest, holding you in place and not allowing you to escape.

"it's okay baby." he says. you try not let your eyes widen at the nickname or the way you can feel his semi poking at your lower back. you're sure the blush you're now sporting is visible by anyone in the general vicinity and that's embarrassing enough.

elena hearing your voices, turns away from her husband and looks towards you. the sight of you embraced has her cooing, hands held to her chest like she's just seen the rebirth of christ himself.

"aren't you too so cute, I'm glad you two are finally together." it's clear she's not seeking any kind of response with her admiration because she turns and gets into the passenger seat before either you or andrei can attempt at closing your gaping mouths. you seriously look like fish.

the car door slamming shut has andrei blinking. he clears his throat once, and drops his arm from around your waist, and despite the heat of the sun, his lack of touch leaves you feeling cool.

you quickly move away from andrei and his...situation, allowing him the space to subtly fix his problem before anything else. you try not to think about it and pass your backpack to andrei's father, who is waiting patiently for the last bit of luggage.

"you okay sweetie?" igor sends you a weary coupled with amused glance, placing your pink bag on top of andrei's green suitcase. "you're looking flushed."

your eyes widen into saucers as your skin only warms further. jesus christ.

thankfully, ever your savour, andrei saunters up next to you, shoving his own carry on into the trunk with anything less than grace. he laughs, "it is summer, dad. we're both roasting." andrei jerks his head towards the front of the suv while the dog barks happily from his mothers lap. "go ahead and get in dad, run the air conditioner for a second. i've got the rest of the bags."

as soon as igor gets into the driver's seat, your both whipping in each others direction, looks of bewilderment on your faces as the last 5 minutes linger in the air.

"fuck i'm sorry," andrei whispers frantically, pretending to adjust the suitcases to not draw too much attention to either of you. "I don't know what came over me there. are you okay?"

you can't help your eyes from flickering towards his crotch. "are you okay?"

"I will be as soon as we stop talking about it."

you snort a laugh before quickly covering your mouth with your hand, concealing the sound. andrei sends you a harsh look which only makes you giggle more.

he shuts the trunk. "just...get in the car."

"such a gentlemen."

all earlier teasing and playfulness comes to a lull as the cool and plush leather seat envelopes you—the lack of rest and pure exhaustion quickly creeping back into your bones. it's truly game over when the car starts moving, lulling you into a much needed sleep.

not even the smell of airplane and greasy hair can stop the comfort of your best friends thick body pressed against yours, providing you with the most perfect pillow as you knock out, the beautiful city of barnaul passing through the window panes.

— day 1 BREAKFAST

you have very faint memory of climbing up the stairs of the svechnikov home after arriving back from the airport. andrei helped you out the car—sleep still clouding your eyes and your legs wobbly like a brand new baby giraffe.

the next thing you know, you're blinking awake, the sun shining through the sheer blue curtains and assaulting your eyes. you're not sure exactly what time it is, but based on the light and the smell of breakfast food wafting up the stairs, you can only assume you've slept through yesterday afternoon and night.

you blink a few times, squinting at the alarm clock on the bedside table until it becomes clear—7:08 a.m. you groan into the quiet room, the mattress squeaking under your weight while you shift into a more upright position. the navy blue plaid duvet falls to your hips. it unmistakably smells like andrei, and although it's a room you've stayed in before, being in here never fails to make you feel all warm and fuzzy.

there are posters up on his wall of ovechkin and a few other russian nhl stars. old hockey sticks sit collecting dust in the corner of his room, and next to them is your suitcase. andrei must've rolled it in after you got into the bed, where you undoubtedly knocked right back out.

you stretch the stiffness from your limbs before slipping out of bed. you're still in your travel clothes, so you make quick work of changing into something a little more appropriate—cut offs and an old shirt of andrei's because you really can't be bothered to dress up for 7 am breakfast—and cleaning yourself up.

after a quick trip to the bathroom where you speed run brushing your teeth and washing your face, you timidly make your way down the stairs, the noise of bacon sizzling on the stove and gentle chatter becoming louder as you enter the room.

evgeny, andrei's brother, spots you first from his spot already sitting at the dining table. he quickly swallows his gulp of tea before calling your name in welcome greeting, "hey, you're up. how was the flight?"

it causes a chain reaction really. elena and igor turn to look in your direction from where they're fussing over scrambled eggs and various meats in the frying pan—both greeting you warmly in a way that just sounds like one long jumbled scentence. evgeny's fiancee, sara, smiles and says your name in the bubbly way she does, patting the chair next to her as an invitation.

the dogs loudly barking and it's kind of a lot for this early, but you've done it all before, and easily navigate through the bustling kitchen, and the happy dog weaving through your legs, to take a seat beside sara.

"it was alright," you answer evgeny's question while sara wordlessly pours you some orange juice. it's your favourite, and elena always makes sure it's made fresh anytime you and andrei come visit. the thought of that alone has any lingering tiredness disappearing, and a absentminded smile blossoming on your face at the simple gesture.

he snickers and shoves some bacon into his mouth. "long, huh?"

"you can say that."

"sausage or bacon, y/n?" igor glances at you over his shoulder.

you hum, "bacon, thank you."

"you and andrei," his mother woos knowingly, "you're both the only people I know who love bacon as much as you do." elena holds a plate towards her husband, and once he piles some bacon beside the gooey eggs, she's placing it on the woven placemat in front of you.

"speaking of sleeping beauty," evgeny's playfully tone has you looking away from your breakfast and towards the archway that sits between the kitchen and family room. and there stands andrei, sweatpants hung low on his hips, and hair messy like he's been running his hand through it.

you heart ticks as you lock eyes and the corner of andrei's lips turn upwards into a lazy smile.

"get enough beauty rest?" his older brother continues to tease him, earning evgeny a flick to his bicep courtesy of elena.

your brows furrow, as its only then you realize andrei wasn't in his childhood bed, but in fact, you were. "where'd you sleep?" it's not uncommon for you and andrei to share a sleeping place, even if he's on a half deflated air mattress, grumbling like a baby, while you snuggle in the cozy bed.

"the guest room — although," he shoots his mother a look, "it was hard with all the clothes that have seemingly taken over that bed." andrei rounds to the back of your chair, hovering over you while he playfully scolds his mother.

naturally you tilt your head back to continue looking at him, his mothers rebuttal comforting background noise.

he looks down at you, a half frown settling over his face. "you're squinting. you forgot your glasses, didn't you?" he reaches out and runs his thumb along the crease between your eyebrows.

the action is so soft and so sincere that you almost forget you need to reply like a normal person. "oh, right. yeah, I did."

you didn’t even realize you’d forgotten them.

andrei always notices.

he hums in what sounds like displeasure, taking his thumb off your face in favour of moving to sit on the unoocupied chair to the other side of you and sara. then andrei gulps down three huge gulps of your orange juice and just like that you forget about the butterflies in your stomach—snatching back the glass and shoving at his shoulder.

elena sits down across the table, breakfast plate piled high with eggs and fruit and sausage. it's just as mouth watering as your own plate. "you know," she starts, "you don't have to sleep in the guest room, andrei."

he shrugs, the kind of shrug that tells you he's listening to his mother but he's not actually hearing her. no, he’s too busy shoving eggs covered in pepper into his mouth. "it's no big deal," andrei stays through bites.

elena waves a dismissive hand, while she forks some cantaloupe with the other. "oh don't spare me son, I know you two share a bed, and It's alright to sleep upstairs with y/n." she pauses, a half amused and half concerned drawn look at her face. "well, I can imagine you do more than just share the bed."

you choke on your sip of juice at the same time andrei almost spits out the piece of bacon he just greedily scarfed. it earns you both curious looks from around the table. well, curious for everyone except evgeny, who looks all too amused with the way this conversation is headed.

"oh, that's okay-"

andrei cuts you off, a blush settling high over his cheeks. "mom, do not continue that thought."

"what?" she squawks, "it's completely normal for people who are together to make love."

"make love!" evengey relates with a laugh.

sara hides her face.

igor, used to his wife's antics, just stays silent. but the half smile on his face lets you know that he too is amused.

but you and andrei are like statues.

elena continues, "although i'd prefer if you didn't do anything in your childhood room, andrei. it's too nostalgic for you to just...strip it of its innocence." she forks some more egg onto her utensil, "but as soon as you guys get back to carolina, please, get to making me some grand babies."

"okay," andrei cuts her off before either of you can truly die from embarrassment. he scratches the spot near his heart awkwardly, and even in your own state of despair, you have to resist the urge to distract him. "can we save the sex talks until dinner." he trails off, muttering under his breath, "and the babies until the wedding."

it's sara who clears her throat, clearly also feeling the laughable tension—and snickering from her husband—tainting breakfast. she plasters on a smile, before shifting the conversation. thank god.

"I can't believe it took you guys so long."

you tilt your head, "what do you mean?"

sara laughs in a way that tells you she finds this whole ordeal cute. not sure if that’s the word you would use to describe it, but anyways. “to get together. you know, dating.”

"right!" you almost shout, blinking fast. without thinking, you toss your hand on andrei’s thick thigh, rubbing it briefly like some weird form of possessive affection.

at your touch, andrei tenses. you can feel it under your palm. if it wasn’t for his family all around, you would’ve face palmed right in that very moment. is this a normal thing girls do with their boyfriend? grope his thigh during family breakfast?

before you can remove your grip and regret your entire existence, andrei casually tosses his thick arm over the back of your dining room chair. his fingers stroke your shoulder over your (his) oversized shirt, wordlessly reassuring you that everything is fine.

it feels far from fine, especially with your hand starting to sweat.

“yeah,” andrei shrugs the shoulder that’s not beside yours, “guess I finally realized what was right in front of me.”

you shove some more eggs into your mouth, chewing slowly while your try to not freak out. and then andrei’s hand is on the back of your head, scratching your scalp like it’s an everyday occurrence.

why are you kind of wishing it was?

sara and elena gush, sharing knowing looks over the table. a look that says yeah, I remember falling in love with a svechnikov.

which on one hand is great—they are truly buying the whole fake dating thing.

but on the other hand—fuck, do you look like you’re actually in love with your best friend?

"I always thought the two of you would be cute together.” sara notes after swallowing her bite of whole wheat toast. “i've been telling y/n that since, what, like our engagement party in september?"

andrei makes a light noise, “is that so?” he tugs at the roots of your hair, “you never told me that.”

“mhmm,” you hum noncommittally, finishing off your glass of orange juice. you barley remembered that conversation with, at the time, newly engaged fiancée until this moment. you briefly recall you and sara, wine drunk and with a ring glittering on her finger—her smooth voice talking about you and andrei and how she thinks he’s in love with you.

you look at andrei, “didn’t cross my mind.”

“oh no?” he murmurs, voice all low and syrupy.

evgeny snorts, “get a room.”

you let out a laugh that sounds a lot like a grumbly breath, retracting your hand from andrei’s leg. you attempt to get the pitcher of orange juice but your best friend beats you to it, refilling your glass almost dangerously full—no doubt planning on stealing some more.

then andrei takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and then resting them on top the table. it so sweet and domestic and if it wasn’t doing funny things to your head, you’d probably melt at the sight.

elena grins, “awe, they’re holding hands.”

and then—

“yeah soon enough they’ll be making babies in the bathroom.”

— day 2 REHEARSAL DINNER

andrei check his watch, not impatiently mind you, because when it comes to waiting for you, andrei has all the patience in the world.

plus his mother would kick him in the butt if andrei even breathed the wrong way right now about your current lack of presence. his cousins rehearsal dinner starts in an hour, and with a 45 minute drive to the vineyard, andrei is looking to leave like, 2 minutes ago.

which is fine, because he's not just waiting on you. sara is still upstairs with you, and his mother is changing out her purse on the kitchen island because her usual handbag isn't the right shade. andrei didn't even realize there were different shades of black. but whatever.

it’s just about as andrei is about to climb up the stairs and make sure you haven't burned all your hair off and are having a breakdown in his dinosaur themed bathroom , the sound of shoes clicking on the floorboards echo through the home.

and then you're appearing, in some breezy conversation with his brothers wife while you descend down the stairs. your dress, which is the perfect shade of summer blue, swooshes coolly around your ankles, making you look like a real life princess. your hair is styled perfectly, and you've even added a little extra glitter to your eyelids and andrei thinks you look fucking ridiculously pretty.

your eyes catch his, and you falter. time slows down like honey between you and andrei, warming your skin and making your knees feel heavy.

andrei's lips part like he's going to say something, but elena waltzes into the room, igor just being her—both sporting wide smiles as the height of the evening approaches.

his mother spots you and inhales sharply. "oh wow, don't you look beautiful. andrei, honey, doesn’t she look beautiful?"

it seems to break you both out of your locked, heated gaze. you smile naturally like being polite is second nature, closed mouth and with glossy lips as you continue the rest of the way down the stairs. you gravitate next to andrei instinctively.

"yeah," andrei breathes, a half smile on his face that says something words can't yet. "she does."

and then he ruffles your hair and everything shifts again. you smack him away form your freshly done hair, but andrei just takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers as his parents usher everyone out the door.

—

the speeches go by in a flurry of laughter and emotion, warming your chest in a longing way you didn't release you held. there was one point when the best man started talking about how lovely the bride to be was, and your eyes got a little misty. which meant that there were fat tears rolling down your cheeks. andrei caught it, and instead of snickering at your emotion, he tugged you into his side, wiping your tears before they could continue to fall with his thumb, before turning his attention back to the speeches.

somehow, that was worse than him laughing.

thankfully as soon as the food came around, your stomach growled and the tears and sudden feeling of impending doom towards being single forever, disappeared. it's delicious and perfect and andrei keeps purposefully nudging his knee against yours under the table when someone makes a loud, stupid joke.

and that always ends up with you hiding your grin in his shoulder.

andrei, long clearing his own plate, snatches one of your brussels with his silver fork. right off your plate without a care.

your mouth goes agape, a half laugh falling from your lips. "hey!" you scold, "those are mine."

"sharing is caring," he reminds you, stabbing two more from the pile before raising them to his mouth.

"so?"

"so, do you want me to starve or something?"

you quirk a teasing brow, "maybe if you savoured the taste of your own dinner, instead of scarfing it down like a neanderthal, you would actually be full."

"I can help it," andrei says around chewing, leaning in real close before continuing. "they're so buttery and delicious." clearly, andrei is trying to sound sudective and wind you up, but all you can hear is his chewing and it has you laughing, pushing him away as his voice tickles your neck.

"you're so gross." you laugh, grabbing the last full brussel that andrei was hoarding on the prongs of his fork, and then pop it into your own mouth.

he tongues his cheek as you chew up at him, a shake to his head so slow and soft that you're not even sure he's done. it's admiration, and amusement, and care—and it sends your heart into cardiac arrest.

andrei's gaze is so intense that it has a shiver running up your spine. the feeling making you straighten your posture and force yourself to look away. you don't see the way his face falls, or feel the way his heart drops.

and andrei doesn't know the way your heart has completely opened up to him in a different way. a way that reminds you of the feeling of home. of the past. of love.

"so, how'd you two meet?"

someone who you're pretty sure is a college friend of the groom, asks from across the table, looking between you and andrei curiously. his girlfriend has the same look on her face, hugging her man's arm fondly.

their display of affection makes you feel a bit funny considering you and andrei are supposed to look in love, but aren't even cuddling with one another at the dman rehearsal dinner like the very real couple.

so—awkwardly—you lean through the space between you and andrei, and wrap your arms around his bicep, your cheek resting against the crisp linen button up decorating his shoulder.

andrei shoots you a curious yet amused look. clearly he knows what you're trying to do, because he doesn't bring attention to your sudden affection. instead, he plays into it, large hand coming over your knee like this is something you two do all the time.

it must look natural enough because no one around the two of you bat an eye.

"we met at a bar." andrei says, "around the time I was drafted to the NHL."

"we've been friends for years." you add on without thinking.

a bridesmaid next to the couple nods, "and when did you realize you were in love?"

andrei laughs softly, rubbing that spot on his chest with his free hand. he swallows gently before answering the loaded question. "her laugh. that night at the bar, she was laughing at something one of her friends had said. I was naturally attracted to the sound. it was loud and real- it matched her perfectly."

andrei pauses, thumb twitching over the material of your blue dress. "and then when we started to chat, she was so patient with my broken english and bad flirting that I just..." he trails off, meeting your eyes from where you're softly peering up at him. "I fell for her that very same night."

you're pretty sure you stop breathing, and if you weren't surrounded by a bunch of strangers, you probably would've audibly gasped at that.

andrei blinks sheepishly, like he's only just taking account of what he's actually just said. he looks away form your gentle gaze and back towards the member of his cousins wedding party—who is staring at the two of you with a look he can't decipher.

andrei forces a chuckle and it's like a cold water bucket over your head. "only took me 7 years to admit it." he squeezes your knee in a way that feels like an apology mixed with truth. "but we're here now. right baby?"

"yeah," you clear your throat, his words and admission laying heavy on your heart. "we are."

—day 3 THE WEDDING

okay so you've kind of been avoiding andrei since the rehearsal dinner. and that was yesterday. it's just—you don't really know where to go from that.

even if andrei was trying to play into the whole fake relationship scheme, he literally admitted that he's been into since the night you met in that dingy raleigh bar almost 8 years ago. even if he didn't actually mean it, hearing him say those words cracked open the locked box in your chest.

when you met andrei many moons ago, you were quickly drawn to his dorky smile and shy persona. it was almost instantly that you developed some form of infatuation. and back then—drunk of course. you were in college. in a bar after all—you were much more confident.

you weren't going to let the russian slip away. not when the guy had you flustered and dipping your chin after two minutes of a half strung together conversation.

so you made sure to stay in touch. texting and calling and making andrei download snapchat so he could see how dolled up you'd get. for him.

you went out for drive thru dinners before andrei’s athletic trainer cared too much about the food he was consuming, and you watched movies with your legs tangled together in his apartment. fuck you even helped him learn english outside of his lessons.

but nothing ever happened. no moves were made because frankly, you weren't sure if he possessed the same kind of romantic interest in you.

so you pushed those feeling away. deep, deep, deep down into the spot in your heart you keep concealed to everyone, even to yourself. and you threw that damn metaphorical key in the toilet it and flushed it. twice.

friendship was good. and easy. and you could accept a friendship with him. because you still had him, regardless of your hidden feelings.

and you thought your feelings for your best friend had completely vanished in the last 8 years. until last night. when andrei and his sweet words and large mitt on your leg—stroking you and squeezing your flesh—started taking about falling for you the same night you fell for him.

surprise! feelings are coming back up the drain and soaking you.

and, oh god, the wedding. the venue which was stupidly packed and even more beautiful, decorated in lavender and baby pink, only made your feelings amplify.

because your avoidance for andrei didn't stop him from being the most patient and sweetest guy. he could tell you needed space as soon as you woke up this morning, and he walked into the bathroom to find you angrily brushing your teeth—and when you didn't send him a foamy smile from around the handle, andrei just knew something was up.

so he just sat beside you silently during the ceremony, wordlessly handing you a few tissues from his suit jacket when you began to cry during the vows. even when he didn't know your tears had nothing to do with the happy couple up at the altar, but instead the guy you've been in love with since before you knew the difference between tequila and vodka.

"you okay?" andrei asks during the journey to the ceremony outside, to the reception inside, words hushed against your ear while his hand hovers your lower back.

you nod, too quick and ridged. "just need a drink."

and drink did you ever. because two hours later once the sun has long set, and your shoes have been abandoned under the dinner table in favour of dancing, you can barley contain your drunken laughter and poorly timed singing.

you've probably had two bottles of wine to yourself.

and andrei can tell because your skin has changed shades and you no longer seem upset. which andrei knows is only because the liquor has coated your bloodstream, allowing you to forget whatever—or whoever—had upset you.

even though andrei is 99.9% positive that the reason for your cold shoulder is him. that, or the oyster joke evgeny made yesterday afternoon, but that was a long shot. it was most certainly him.

andrei watches with what he doesn't realize is a full blown pout on his face—like glistening, down turned lips, chin resting on his knuckles pouting—as you spin around with his sister in law.

not even the sound of your previous seat scraping against the floor pulls andrei out of his sad stare. it’s only when his brother nudges him that andrei blinks.

“so,” evgeny starts, voice low enough to keep the conversation between them, but still loud enough to be heard over the music. “y/n, huh?

“yeah,” andrei breathes, “y/n.” your name taste like sugar on his tongue.

evgeny nods in approval, but his lips are pursed in thought. a beat passes between them, nothing but the laughter of guests and synth pop song playing from the dj booth to be heard.

“can't say I'm suprised,” his brother eventually settles on, making andrei’s brows turn upwards in question while a rush of ice shoots through his veins. the inquiry and tone of evgeny’s statement has andrei feeling weary.

simply due to the fact that his older brother has always known andrei better than andrei knows himself.

he’s scratching at his chest again, but evgeny notices the nervous tic before andrei notices it himself. once andrei sees his brothers knowing glance though, andrei pulls his hand away so fast it’s like he’s been burnt, choosing to rap his knuckles against the table cloth instead.

andrei lick his lower lip before speaking. lis that a bad thing?”

“absolutely not,” evgeny reassures at the speed of light, voice steady. “it's just...I could tell that you loved her. always have.”

andrei laughs once—low and breathy—despite the way the words weigh on his chest. “I haven't always loved her. you're making me sound like a sad puppy or something equally as...” andrei trails off, but his brother is quick to fill the silence.

“pathetic?”

“yeah.”

“well, you are pathetic.” evgeny snorts, a playful edge to his voice that makes andrei sweaty. nervous. “when it came to her. always watching her, not subtly at all. and the flowers, and the birthdays, and that one year you couldn’t come home for christmas because y/n had the flu and you wanted to make sure she was okay.”

andrei shrugs causally, all while the weight of the truth sits like thick fog in the air. suffocating him. andrei doesn’t dare look over at you. not now. not when it will make him crumble and spill everything. “well i'm a good friend-and boyfriend.”

his brother doesn’t comment on the slip up. “I know that. but when it came to taking care of y/n and just being with her, it wasn't just about you being a good friend. it was about you loving her.”

fuck.

evgeny watches his brother carefully. he can see the way his words are affecting andrei, and the emotion pricking the heart on his sleeve.

it’s only then, when the conversation comes to another brief pause, does evgeny see the way andrei’s eyes flicker back towards your dancing, carefree frame. and instantly, he watches his younger brothers face changes.

it’s hurt.

it’s longing.

it’s unspoken love.

“it's okay to be in love andrei.” evgeny breathes slowly as if not to startle. “you've got a good one.”

a rough swallow and then andrei nods. “yeah. I do.”

“and mom loves her.”

that seems to do the trick, and it illicit a rough chuckle from andrei’s chest. “you don't say.”

“definitely more than you.”

andrei looks back at his brother, the start of an amused smile beginning to pull at his lips. “thanks dick.”

“you're welcome. and hey—now that you finally have her, never let her go.”

andrei isn’t oblivious to the underlying meaning of evgeny’s words. like he’s said, his older brother knows him well. but it doesn’t stop the panic creeping up andrei’s sternum, and the urge to deflect and deny is uncanny.

just as andrei goes to respond, you stumble into his eyesight, tripping over the air like it was a curb, and completely stealing andrei’s attention. thankfully you catch yourself before falling to the ground, but it still sends andrei’s heart into over drive.

"you okay?" evgeny asks you, his amusement clear. almost as clear as your level of intoxication.

andrei is on his feet before he even realizes that he’s stood up from the upholstered chair, standing next to you with his hand hovering over your back.

you nod with a lazy smile on your face, and your eyes completely glossed over. slowly, because you’re not completely all there, your eyes trail towards andrei. your smile grows tenfold while you grab onto his hips. “hey there. come dance with me?"

"I don't know," he breathes softly, eyes moving over your body as if he’s trying to assess you. regardless, he can’t stop the smile that blossoms across his lips. “I think it’s probably time we go? no?”

you frown playfully, swaying until your chest is pushed against his. "please? just one dance. please, I love this song."

andrei doesn’t recognize the song, and considering you play him every single song you like at least 20 times in a row, he knows you’re lying, and this is just an excuse to get him on the dance floor.

because you have seemingly pushed away your vendetta with him for the moment, andrei decides that he’s taking this opportunity to be with you while things are normal. andrei sighs reluctantly, yet with a hint of enjoyment, and that has your face lighting up—because you can see the answer before he says it.

andrei lets you lead him into the middle of the crowded dance floor and to a spot you seem acceptable before turning in his arms, wrapping your own around his shoulders while his find your waist, completely enveloping you.

the music has slowed down, casting the room with a slow, romantic haze that makes your limbs tingle.

"if you're sick of me after this week and never want to see me again, I understand." andrei mutters after a minute, thick fingers flexing around your body, like he’s fighting an internal battle. one that he seems to win, because he then is pulling you flush against him.

your eyebrows pull towards your nose. "what? no. nothing could make me never want to see you again."

“I hope this weekend hasn’t been too overwhelming,” andrei starts, voice no higher than a whisper due to your proximity. “and i’m sorry again for…springing all this on you—quite literally last minute.”

you shake your head. “i’m not upset, andrei. i’m fine, you really don’t have to worry about me.”

this time, it’s andrei’s brows that turn down. “i’m always going to worry about you, y/n,” he swallows thickly, knees bending ever so slightly so he can better peer into your drunken eyes. “you’re my best friend.”

maybe it’s the liquor, or maybe it’s pure exhaustion of fighting your feelings off for 8 years, but your bold question comes before you can deflect it. “and?”

your prompt makes andrei halt.

a beat passes and then andrei’s hand is running down the back of your head, smoothing your hair and you heart. “and.”

and right now—that unspoken knowing—is enough.

—

andrei brings you up the stairs of his childhood home two hours—and two chugged bottles of water—later. he gently guides you up the walkway, slowly and with his hand on your hip, guiding you and keeping somewhat of your stability in tact—your heels dangling from his index finger of his opposite hand.

he sits you on the edge of his navy bed once you’re back in the comfort of his old bedroom, ensuring that you’re okay before turning and shutting the bedroom door. your heels thump to the floor as he drops them next to the dresser.

andrei pulls his tie loose while spinning back on his heels. instead of the upright position he left you in, you’re now flat on your back, limbs all spread out and starfish like.

you’re not asleep. not yet. but rather grinning like a naughty child at andrei. your hair is fanned out against the covers, and there’s still some sweat lingering on your hair line from all the dancing and alcohol.

you’re quite literally glistening and andrei feels light headed.

"you can't fall asleep yet," he tells you, walking over to stand above you. with a delicate touch, he traces a finger over your thigh, and even through the material of your pale lemon dress, andrei can feel your body heat. "you have to change out of your dress, or else you’ll be mad at me when you wake up because it’s wrinkled."

you whine, "can you do it for me?”

your words are nothing but innocent, but his sex deprived brain doesn’t think the same way, and your whiny tone shoots right down to his dick. andrei swallows roughly, scratching at his chest twice before running his hand through his tousled hair.

you shift, the strapless hem of your dress slipping down just enough that it’s dangerous. andrei’s eyes instinctively dart away—just like the time they did three years ago when you’d been swimming at his place and your nipples got all pebbled under your bikini.

andrei curses under his breath.

you call his name and like the hopeless man he is, looks back at you. "please, i'm tired."

so, so hopeless.

andrei nods, grabbing ahold of your outstretched hands before pulling you back into your previous sitting position. your smile thickens and it has him feeling incredibly nervous.

"stand up for me." andrei requests quietly, and thankfully you agree with a simple nod, moving to stand on unsteady feet at the foit of the bed.

andrei doesn’t dare break eye contact. not when you’re so close that your scent is intoxicating and your bulging breasts are practically calling his name. without blinking or tearing his gaze from yours, his shaky hands reach around your body, blindly finding the clasp of your gown.

the clasp pops open, and you almost don’t catch the dress in time before it falls away to reveal your chest.

but andrei doesn’t stop there, his breathing heavy against you as he begins pulling down the small, yellow zipper. as andrei slowly begins tugging the zipper, revealing more and more of your bare skin, the more your breathing catches.

his knuckles graze against your skin, ilicting a hitched sigh from your plump, wine stained lips.

this exchange is quite possibly the hottest and most intimate thing either of you have every experienced, and nothing really has even happened. perhaps it the hesitant yet eager brushing touches that are making you light head. or perhaps it’s the eye contact between you.

it’s definitely the way your nipples have turned to diamonds, and andrei’s dick is sitting hot and heavy beneath his slacks though.

the zipper hits the end of the track with a soft clinking sound. andrei slowly lets the tag go, his hand smoothing over your hip as he begins to retract his touch.

you can feel his restraint. you can feel his desire.

"andrei," you whisper his name like a prayer. like a mantra. like it’s the password to the 8 year long puzzle between you. “i’m going to let the dress fall now.”

his gaze flickers. just far enough down to see the start of your dress and your barley concealed breasts. then, like gravity, andrei’s eyes find yours again.

“okay.” his voice is hoarse in a way that’s undeniable.

and then the dress hits the floor, the smell of your perfume puffing around you like a cloud as the material falls away. not even the smell of wine could over power your fruity scent.

he doesn’t look. he can’t. not when you’re still a little tipsy and he’s barley holding onto himself. instead, andrei brushes your hair away from your face, lingering on your cheek.

you swallow, “what are you thinking about?”

his answer comes like clockwork. “you.” andrei’s voice falters as you reach out, your much smaller fingers clumsily pulling at the buttons of his dress shirt. like your bodies know what happening before your heads do. as his summer skin becomes exposed, your hands find new home against his flesh.

andrei lick his lower lip and tilts your face up, towards his. "i'm always thinking about you."

and then, without hesitation or reluctance or anything else he’s been fronting since that night in that bar years ago, andrei slots his mouth against yours.

pushing up onto your toes, your grasp at his sides under his unbuttoned shirt, sighing against andrei’s mouth just as he does yours.

with his free hand, andrei grabs your hip, pulling your naked body flush against his, all while he expertly kisses and licks into your awaiting mouth.

after what feels like an eternity of switching between languid, slow kisses and heated hands and desperate kisses, andrei slowly guides you back down to his childhood bed, slotting between your open legs like it’s where he’s meant to be.

and perhaps, it is.

— day 4 THE MORNING AFTER

the sun beating on your back is what wakes you up the next morning. its bright and hot and too much for just opening your eyes. you groan out like a baby, pulling the covers up and over your head to further bury yourself in the cocoon of andrei’s bedding.

andrei.

your eyes snap open at a comical pace, and you sit up even quicker if that’s somehow possible. your eyes flicker towards the right side of the bed where just hours ago, andrei was curled against you. skin warm and bare against yours.

the spot is now empty.

the night comes back to you in movie like flashes. the drinking and the dancing. andrei’s calloused hands on your zipper and even more so on your skin. you sit there, still as a statue, as you remember how andrei kissed you—all over—and how his body rutted into yours like second nature.

the whispered praises and pleasure filled moans.

you remember it all.

and you remember, most of all, that you love him.

you don’t know if you should puke, cry, scream or just jump out the window. maybe all four.

you slip on the housecoat hung over the bed post, tying the string uncomfortably tight, just before slipping out of the bedroom. with last night still fresh, and your feelings practically drowning you, you know you need to find andrei—like yesterday—and tell him.

well, tell him as much as you can without choking on your own tears.

the smell of freshly brewed coffee hits your nostrils before anything else. you round into the kitchen and see elena and igor. they both grin politely, one of them offering you a drink—you’re not sure who because you’re too busy wondering where the hell andrei is to notice anything else.

the words tumble from you without a second thought, interrupting the dogs happy hopping at your ankles. “where's andrei?” and of course the cherry on top is your voice wavering.

elena’s eyes draw in confusion, her lips parting in wordless question.

“i'm here,” andrei’s familiar voice sounds from behind you. and instantly you feel like crying. he rounds to your front, looking freshly showered and clean in his shirt and athletic shorts. “you okay?”

“I just, I thought you left.” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself as embarrassment washes over you.

“no moya lyubov,” andrei coos with his native tongue, brows pulled tight in concern. he brings you into his arms despite the way your self hug makes it a little awkward. “just putting our bags in the car so it’s all ready to go for tonight.”

“oh right,” you nod, a little dumb. you lower your voice even more before continuing. “we should talk, right?”

“yeah, we should.”

you nod again, manoeuvring in andrei’s arms until you’re able to grasp at his fingers. “come upstairs with me? please.”

he hums. “of course.”

as soon as you’re back in his navy bedroom, and the door is heard softly shutting behind you, you’re nervously wringing your hands out. “you're my best friend.” you blurt out, robe slipping off your shoulder as it is inevitably, too big. as it is obviously andrei’s robe.

he fixes the shoulder so you’re covered again. “I know.”

you continue, heart racing and voice cracking despite andrei’s calm demeanour. “and I thought that these feelings I was pushing down were unreciprocated.”

“I know,” he mumbles, pushing your hair away from your neck. “me too.”

its something in the way he’s touching you—looking at you—that has you faltering. it’s like you’re his. like he’s in—oh.

“and now.” andrei continues.

“and now,” you breathe, “and now I want to kiss you again.”

andrei legs out a laugh. “you can.”

“but not just today,” you interrupt, “I want to kiss you everyday and wake up next to you everyday because I really fucking like you.”

“well,” andrei breathes, chest puffing as he takes an impossible step closer to you. he gently but confidently takes ahold of your face in his hands. caressing you like a porcelain toy. like a prized possession. like the greatest trophy in sports. “I really fucking like you too.”

you exhale.

but he’s not quite done with his love confession. after all, he has been thinking about it since 2018. “and I always have.”

your breath catches, curiously and hope gnawing at you like a moth to a flame. “since the bar?”

“since the second you stepped foot into that bar, y/n.”

a beat passes.

“this is kind of crazy, right? is this crazy?” you laugh in disbelief, continuing to look up at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky.

“absolutely,” andrei nods, thumbs brushing over your cheek bones. “but it's a good crazy. don't you think?”

“definitely.” you mumble through the beginning stages of a sheepish smile. your fingers itch to reach out and touch andrei, and unlike everyday before this one, you allow them to.

“okay then let’s bask in the crazy, yeah?”

A/N: okay. so! this definitely got a little rushed and I can only hopes this flows well enough to follow along with. and hopefully it makes sense and you catch the drift! I went through a writers block through this fic so a lot of the parts were spaced out (writing wise.

on another note—the rom com series is still happening. i’m just not sure when it will be out. i’m hoping for at least one before the summer ends, along with a few other goodies.

jo will girls and wyjo girls, get excited.

anyways this is just to say thank you for your patience and support like always.

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trashforbarzal · 13 days ago

Text

all the way

(visual learner pt1, pt2 )

poly!marauders x afab!reader ⊹ 10.9k

cw ⟢ smut, mdni +18, swearing, inexperienced!reader, lots of praise, teasing, oral (f&m rec) piv, insecurity about inexperience, shy!reader, fingering, lots of pet names

summary: you cant seem escape the pestering burn in the back of your mind that's itching for something, for more, to experience it all; or the isecurities that come along with it.

a/n: this took me too long to start bcs ive been dealing with migraines but its here at last!! a bit vulgar oh WELL not proofread x

A little discovery goes a long way.

Or at least you thought it would, since you essentially broke the seal between you and your very adoring boyfriends, there as been a lot of exporation, learning—mastering even. But it seems you’ve hit an unexpected blockade.

One that fixing seemed to be more complex than you’d imagined.

Now, there was nothing wrong by any means. According to Remus, you were becoming rather skillful with your lips, in a way that would make Sirius proud. And you were most definetely gaining insight into things; likes, dislikes, habits—kinks.

All sorts of interesting things; like how, out of all of them, James is particulary handsy, as if he cannot physically get enough of you—like he’s making up for lost time. Drinking in any and all skin on skin, somehow always touching you in one way or another.

Frequently stirring awake to feel his arm wrapped around your middle, lips pressing gentle kisses to your jaw, his voice hoarse and whispered when you crack open your eye with a small hum.

“g’morning,”

The sun had barely taken it’s place in the sky, and your early bird boyfriend has picked you as his victim today, though, you can hardly be angry when he’s so warm against you, smiling into your skin as he kisses his way up to your lips. Fingertips grasping at the flesh of your waist as he pulls you closer—using his free hand to brush the straggling hair out of your face as he pulls away.

Admiring your semi-awake face, pout slowing becoming more evident on your lips when you catch sight of the clock—head falling into his chest with a quiet grumble.

He can’t help but huff a chuckle as his hand trails down your spine, slipping under the fabric of Sirius’ shirt, lips once again finding the curve of your jaw. “m’sorry, pretty. I know it’s early,”

James really is devious, because he knows exactly how to pacify you—and it doesn’t take much, a few peppered kisses and some sweet words and he found that you’d become adorably agreeable. He’d been awake for a while, fighting—persuading himself that he shouldn’t be so selfish and should let you sleep, but he couldn’t help it. Not when you were cuddled against him so sweetly.

You didn’t have much fight in you either, still sleepy as you melted into his touch, and after a few more kisses—suddenly being awake didn’t seem so bad. Mewls muffled by James’ lips when his hands slides down your back to the curve of your thigh, hitching your leg to rest on his hip.

The light rustle of fabric drew you away from each other, panting with flushed lips as James peeked over your shoulder—making sure you hadn’t disturbed Sirius and Remus. Tangled together in an unclear mass of sleeping limbs under the sheets.

When his gaze flickered back to you, he wasted no time reconnecting your lips, kissing you deeper—tongue swiping against the seam of your lips, swallowing each small noise. You really were trying to be quiet, mindful of your sleeping partners just an arms length away—but it was getting harder and harder to keep your focus on stay quiet. Especially when James’ hand was trailing under the waistband of your shorts and his honeyed tone filled your ears.

“just wanted a bit of you before i left, love,”

His lips against your skin becoming more insistent, smirking into it at the sound of your shuddering breath. Pulling away to get a glimpse of your expression—teeth pressed into your bottom, failing to dull your escaping whine, brows pinching further with each sink of his fingers into you core.

Curling and curving into your walls and it had you squirming into his hold.

A sharp gasp leaving your lips when James nipped at the thin skin below your ear, freezing for a moment at the small sound of shuffling sheets behind you. But to your misfortune, James just continues to push into you at a faster pace—murmuring against you just before his lips capture yours, “Shhhh, stay quiet f’me pretty girl,”

Squeezing your eyes shut as you clenched around his digits—your hands gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, bucking into his palm as your high washed over you. And James just hummed lowly into the kiss, muttering as he trailed his lips down your neck, “fuck, so perfect—thank you,”

You were still shuddering as he slipped his hands out of your shorts, chest rising in uneven patterns as James brought his slick coated fingers to his lips, a smirk twitching at the corners. His other hand was running up and down you spine while your breath leveled.

But before you could fully recalibrate your brain, he was pressing a firm kiss to your lips and whispering about something about being back later. Quietly slipping out of the sheets, and padding towards the bathroom, before your protests had the opportunity to leave your tongue.

He was gone.

And even if your tried, you couldn’t to miss the clear tent of his boxers.

Another wave of sleep tempted you, you couldn’t help but wonder—a small creeping thought making its way to the forefront of your mind. Subdueing all faint hints of potential slumber with its invasive nature.

Again was all you could think.

It was becoming an increasing common occurance. They always indulged, took care of—doted on you. Not that you were complaining.

But before you could even think about approaching the subject of you returning anything, they were gone.

Granted, it was all uncharted grounds, but it was starting to feel like you were the only one paying attention to the elephant in the room. There was a seperation, almost like it was you and them.

And you hear them sometimes in the house, James and Sirius showering together—their moans and mewls ringing above the sound of cascading water and bouncing off the porcelain walls. You’ve seen it even, stumbling across a door left ajar and seeing Sirius on his knees infront of Remus—hand tangled into his locks, small gasps filling the room.

There was a balance, a give and take—and with you?

Well, it felt like you were just taking.

And though you were well aware of the fact that you didn’t know how to give, it was really starting to gnaw at you—because you wanted to try, wanted more—wanted to make them feel good.

But there was no real right way to go about the subject, at least not one that didn’t make you wish the earth would split open and swallow you whole.

Even as you sat at the dining table, forking at the lunch James had so kindly prepared for you all. You couldn’t focus, mind spiralling out of control, each thought more ridiculous and less plausible than the last.

‘You don’t even know what to do—you wouldn’t be able to make them feel good.’

Suddenly it was much harder to swallow the bit of toast you’d been chewing for far too long—forcing it down as a small frown crept its way onto your lips. Letting your fork rest on the edge of your plate, nails subconsciously starting to pick a the skin around your nails.

Brows furrowing just slightly as you pennied the irrational thoughts that whirled every corner of your mind—internally conflicted. Because you knew they loved you, no matter what, outside of everything else—there was no doubt in your mind.

And you were enough, you knew your worth didn’t depend on your ability to please.

So why did it suddenly feel like the be all and end all of everything?

Plagueing every thought, making you read into every interaction, every passing touch that was meant to be comforting—now had you second guessing everything.

Gods, it was making you feel so pathetic.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you hadn’t heard Sirius calling you, even after the third time—still staring at your plate absentmindedly. And when his hand made contact with yours, you all but jumped out of your skin, feeling all the eyes in the room on you.

“Woah—you alright, love?”

Sirius’ voice was light, laced with that same teasing lilt—lips curled at the corners in mild amusement, thumb tracing small circles into your skin. You let out small sigh through your nose as you pushed everything you were thinking about into the back of your mind—forcing your lips to match the curve of Sirius’ as you spoke.

“Oh—sorry, yeah. Just a bit tired,”

You also failed to notice James behind you and closing in—pressing a firm peck to the mark he’d left earlier that morning. Walking over to the sink with a stack of plates in his hand as he cooed playfully, “Sorry about that, love.”

Sirius was watching you more intently that you’d realised—if your barely touched plate wasn’t an indication of anything, then the tight lipped smile you gave him in combination with your previous statement did nothing to convince him.

He let his eyes flicker over to Remus, who was also looking at you, brows arched in curiosity at James’ words—waiting for you to expand. Parted your lips as you took in air to fuel your words, before stuttering out the start of several words—feeling heat rise under your cheeks when your lips eventually clamped shut.

James snicker when he turned around, leaning against the sink as he dried his hands—the smirk on his face becoming more smug by the second as your gaze darted around the room. He was so casual, so candid with his words and you had no idea what to do with it.

“Showed our girl a little love before I went on my run, that’s all,”

The tips of your ears were burning under the pressure of his gaze, and as he stalked over—leaning to take your plate of cold food away, his hand soothing over the curve of your neck. You all but frozen, spine tensing up, goosebumps spreading over the surface of your skin from the heat of his palms, feeling very much like a deer caught in headlights.

Remus didn’t say much, just hummed lowly with a nod far too knowing for your liking and all you wanted to do was shrink away from the attention.

Slipping your hand out from under Sirius’ as you reach for your glass of water, James had already made this way around, perching himself recklessly on the kitchen counter as he continued to speak with Remus.

Sirius on the other hand, was still watching you from the corner of his eyes—as you tried to sneak away after washing your glass—he waited a few moments before trailing after you.

Leaning against the door frame of the living room—watching as you sat in your corner seat of the sofa—a book open and forgotten on your lap, staring out the window. He waited a few more long moments before settling into the seat beside you, arm instinctively slinging around your shoulder.

When you turned to him, he had an expectant look on his face—as if he was waiting for you to say something, waiting for you to spill your guts to him, and it made your pulse pick up slightly. Praying to the Gods that he wouldn’t pry, just let you get over whatever was swarming your mind, taking your attention.

“I can see the cogs turning, sweetheart. Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

Obviously, Sirius saw right through you, and it probably didn’t help that you were doing such a bad job at hiding the small turmoil that was building in you. Accidently confirming his suspicious when you tensed under his touch, body still as stiff as a board next to him.

You just hummed, tearing your gaze away from his and back down to you book—fingers fiddling with the hem of your sleeve as you spoke, “Hmm? Nothing’s on my mind, Siri. Just tire—”

“Tired?”

Sirius cut you off, finishing your poor excuse for you, watching as your lips pursed together for a second—fighting the urge to knaw into the flesh. He was still watching you so intently, eyes boring into your profile, feeling the way your shoulder sunk slightly before you looked him again.

Taking a second to let your eyes scan over his face, you knew he didn’t believe you. But there really was no way you were going to let this extend any further than yourself, instead you just doubled down, leaning into his chest, forcing your body to relax—willing away the tension as your closed your eyes, murmuring again that you were just tired.

His hand soothed over the the skin of your arm, Sirius knew better than to force it out of you—he was by no means going to let it go, but he’d give you at least a day or two to prove to him that it really was just lack of sleep.

You failed.

It has been three days since Sirius first noticed you being ‘tired’. Truthfully, he didn’t know what else to call it—he’d also noticed how in those three days, you’d withdrawn a bit. Coming to bed the latest, sleeping turned away and slipping out at random times in the night—and you hadn’t so much as given any of them a peck since that first morning.

Whatever it was, he’d had enough ****of it stealing you away.

Sirius was no where near as tentative as Remus, and suprisingly more vigilant than James—but the pair hadn’t made any move to pry. And well, Sirius just wasn’t patient enough.

You were sitting in the living room alone—James and Remus lounging in the bedroom. This time, you were actually reading, comfortable in the silence that surrounded you, barely sparing Sirius a glance as he plopped onto the sofa beside you—unnecessarily close, practically on your lap.

Your tone was deceivingly light when you spoke, “What’s up, Siri?”

He shifted to angle his body closer to you, plucking the book from you lap and placing it face down on the arm of the sofa, raising a brow skeptically and letting his gaze linger on your face.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

It was only a fraction of a second, but Sirius saw the way your face dropped at his questioning before you sighed, bitelessly rolling your eyes, automatically spouting out that you’re fine. That wasn’t enough though. And he wasn’t going to let it go.

Practically staring into your soul as he frowned at you, voice just as soft as his touch over your arm. And as he spoke he saw it again, the faltering in your expression, a small crack as you averted your gaze.

"You're doin’ that thing again," he murmured.

Blinking at him, a little too slow, head tilted just enough to feign curiosity. "What thing?"

He sighed, a sound that came more from his chest than his throat, all weight and low thunder. “The thing where you pretend you’re here with us but your head’s off somewhere chewing itself up.”

There was no response, not right away. A small silence filing the room, you weren’t sure if you had the words—or worse, you were afraid you did, and they’d make everything real if you said them aloud.

Sirius shifted closer, until his thigh was flush against yours and the scent of leather and warm oak and his specific brand of recklessness filled your senses. Still, you said nothing. Quietly loud and sharp and unnatural, like the absence of static in a too-quiet room. It made his chest ache.

“Alright,” he said, voice low, brushing his fingers beneath your chin and tilting your head just slightly toward him. “Time to talk, sweetheart.”

You froze—for barely a fraction of a second. But somehow just long enough for him to catch it. Then, you forced a breath through your nose, lashes lowering as if the floor might offer escape.

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

He huffed a dry, humorless laugh, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

Watching you for a long moment in silence, as you unravel in micro-expressions, cataloguing each one like clues to a puzzle he’d already decided he was going to solve. The kind of silence that felt heavier than normal. Expectant. And you felt it—crawling over your skin, settling in your stomach. Like he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

When you still didn’t say anything, he leaned in closer, voice softer now. “You think we haven’t noticed? The late nights, the cold shoulders, the way you can’t even look at us for more than five seconds?”

You shifted, discomfort flickering in your eyes — and still, you said nothing. He waited anyway.

“You know,” he started slowly, stretching out along the couch, his head tipping back lazily against the cushion, “you’re really shit at pretending.”

Your eyes didn’t leave your lap as you spoke, “I’m not pretending anything.”

That made you finally glance at him, startled and caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone, the softness beneath the teasing. Sirius’ brow arched slightly as you opened your mouth—and then closed it again.

He waited.

You looked away.

“I just…I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime.”

You let out a quiet snort, despite yourself.

He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You’ve been pulling away.”

“I haven’t—”

“You have.” There was no accusation in his tone, just quiet certainty. “We notice, you know. Me. James. Remus.” Tilting his head to eye you sideways, “You flinched when I brushed your hand this morning. Jumped when James kissed your shoulder. I’ve seen ghosts more relaxed than you’ve been lately.”

Sirius shifted beside you, a little closer, but still careful. Just enough to make his presence known.

Shame pinched in the pits of your stomach as you swallowed. “It feels like I’m the only one who’s… not giving. Like I’m just taking and taking and I want to—I want to give, to make you feel good too. But I don't even know how. And I don't want to make it awkward, or ruin anything, or mess up what we already have—"

“Stop,” he cut in gently, not unkindly. “You haven’t ruined anything. There’s nothing to ruin. You know that, right?”

You bit your lip, hard. “It feels like there is. Like I’m…I don’t know. Like I’m some kind of charity case you’re all doting on because I’m clueless and eager and always ready to melt for you. And I know it’s stupid—”

“It’s not,” he interrupted, voice firm. “Don’t do that.”

Sirius blinked, eyebrows drawing together. “Is that seriously what you think?”

You didn’t trust your voice to answer, throat too tight—just shrugging dismissively.

There was a pause, before his hand reached for yours, warm and comforting as his fingers laced through yours.

“I’m going to tell you something,” he said, voice lower now. Earnest—real. “We love taking care of you. Love watching you unravel. Love the way you trust us, how open you are—how you light up when you feel good.”

He tipped his head to meet your gaze. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t want you. All of you. Your pleasure, yeah, but your desire, too. The messy, fumbling, sweet little things you want to try, even if you don’t get them right the first time.”

Heat crept its sway from your collar upwards, settling beneath your ears, but that familiar, magneticness that spilled from him held your gaze—and suddenly it feel like you were trying hard not to lean into him.

“And you don’t need to know what you’re doing,” he added, thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles, “that’s the fun part. Discovering it together. Letting us teach you. Letting us feel and learn you, when you’re the one touching, or tasting, or wanting.”

It had your pulse stuttering beneath your chest, heat spreading from your ears to skin of your cheeks.

“You want to try?” Sirius asked, quieter now. A murmur between just the two of you. “You wanna learn how to make us fall apart the way you do?”

All at once the air in the room felt a bit thinner, even as you nodded, slowly as first—than firmer, more eager.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “Because we want that, too.”

You exhaled shakily, something intoxicating about his words, his tone, how his breath fanned over you and the way the proximity felt much less than before—as a sense of relief, warmth and a strange little bubble of excitement rose beneath your skin.

It’s so subtle, so smooth, that at first you barely register the shift—just the warmth of his body folding closer, the brush of his knee against yours, the scent of something familiar and faintly woodsy curling around your senses like smoke.

Then his lips are at your ear, breath curling soft and hot against your skin as he murmurs, “Could show you right now, if you want.”

Every muscle locks up, spine straight, breath caught halfway to your lungs—freezing. His voice is honeyed, velvet and enticing, every word dipped in a promise that hums through you like static. Lips ghosting over your jaw, a breath away from touching. Almost. Not quite.

You only nod.

It’s barely a motion—more instinct than thought—but he pulls back slowly, and there’s a look on his face like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His smirk is small, private but the glint in his eyes makes your stomach tighten and twist in anticipation.

“Wait here, lovely,” he says, voice low and threaded with something dark and pleased.

Then Sirius is standing—disappearing down the hallway, and slips into the bedroom.

There’s only the small sound of a whining hinge as the door creaked open. Muffled voices— hushed, indistinct murmurs. And it makes your hair stand on end. Something electric crackles at the base of your spine, and you fidget, fingers restless on your knees, heart beating too loud in the quiet that follows.

You barely have time to get your bearings before Sirius reappears.

He standing there for a moment, in the doorway, watching you. His gaze is heavy—dark and unwavering—and it pins you in place as surely as if he’d put hands on you, reaching out to you with a hand.

There a short beat before you take i, and he pulls you up, wordless, walking you backwards in slow, deliberate steps. His eyes never leave yours, and the air around you feels thicker and harder to move though when you arrive at the door. Because you can see them.

Remus and James.

They’re sitting on the bed—quiet, composed, eyes lifted to meet yours. There’s something unreadable in their expressions, something that flickers between curiosity and heat and something deeper.

James watches from the far side of the bed, one leg propped casually beneath him, elbow resting on his knee like he’s settling in for something he already knows is going to unfold slowly — deliberately. Gaze steady and flicking between you and Sirius with the faintest curl of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Observantly waiting—amused.

Remus shifts at the edge of the bed, legs parting slightly as he scoots forward, hands resting loose on his thighs.

His expression is softer, warmer. Familiar. When his eyes meet yours, he gives you a small, easy smile — like you’ve just walked into the common room instead of… this.

“Hey, dove,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

You’re standing just behind Sirius, slightly to the side, his shoulder brushing yours. The room feels heavier now — not suffocating, but thick with heat and expectation. Your pulse is a roar in your ears, a steady drumbeat that drowns everything out until Sirius tilts his head, leaning in again.

“I told you I’d show you,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Gonna show you on Remus.”

Air catches in your throat—a soft, unintentional squeak of surprise slipping out before you can stop it. Eyes darting between the two boys on the bed, wide and unsure, a question trembling on your lips you don’t quite know how to ask.

“I—” Your voice stutters, coming out too small. “You don’t have to—I mean, I don’t want to take you away from what you were doing—”

Sirius huffs a soft laugh, the sound rumbling low in his chest, smug and fond all at once. He glances at Remus, who quirks a brow but doesn’t correct him. “Trust me, love,” Sirius says, eyes glinting. “Moony’d much rather have us on our knees than finish that book.”

And with no ceremony at all, Sirius sinks to his knees in front of him.

Your breath stalls completely.

He looks up at you from the floor, dark hair tumbling into his face, his smirk lazy and wicked—patting the carpetted space beside him—not demanding, just expectant.

You’re frozen for a beat. Maybe two.

Then your knees give the smallest wobble as you follow. Sinking down beside him slowly, heart fluttering wildly, eyes flicking up toward Remus—who sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, tongue darting out to wet his lips. There’s a quietness to his gaze that had your heartbeat quickening in your ears.

You press into the soft carpet, the fibers unfamiliar beneath your skin, grounding you in the moment as everything else floats just out of reach. Sirius shifts slightly beside you, the heat of his body brushing against yours, subtle but deliberate — an anchor. His thigh nudges yours gently, the pressure reassuring, coaxing. Your breath is shallow, eyes flicking upward again.

Remus hasn’t looked away.

He’s still watching you with that quiet intensity, like he’s trying to memorize the exact shade of your hesitation. His mouth curves at the corners — not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. Just… soft. Expectant.

“Doing good, love,” Sirius murmurs next to you, voice low and velvet-smooth. You swear you feel the words ripple through your spine. He doesn't look at you — he says it like he’s talking to himself, but it still lands square in your chest.

You’re still aware of James on the bed, leaning his chin into his palm, his elbow propped up on his knee. Observing. Not intruding. Just…amused, dark-eyed and humming with quiet interest. He doesn’t speak, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers on your mouth, then dips lower, that makes your breath stutter.

“Rem,” Sirius says, still kneeling. His voice is almost teasing. “Tell her what you want.”

Remus tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s assessing you—peeling back layers without ever touching you. “I want you to show her,” he says, voice calm, level. He leans back on his hands, spreading his knees just a little wider on the edge of the mattress. “Thought that was the plan.”

The air around you all but froze,not urgency, not yet. But anticipation. The kind that prickles down your arms and settles in your gut like a coil waiting to snap.

Sirius shifts forward on his knees until his thighs bracket one of Remus’ legs, his back a straight line of calm control. And then, suddenly, he turns his head—not enough to break the moment with Remus, but enough to glance at you. His eyes flick down, then up, deliberate.

“You watching?” he murmurs.

Slowly, you nod—words caught in your throat.

Sirius smiles again, all teeth this time, and turns back toward Remus, hands trailing up Remus’ thighs with confident familiarity. And still—your gaze is locked in place. The sounds, the movement, the steady rise and fall of breath. The way Remus' jaw tightens when Sirius’ fingers dig in a little.

“You’re shaking,” Remus says suddenly, and you snap your gaze up to meet his. “Nervous?”

Your lips part slightly—to say yes, maybe, or no—but you don’t get the chance. Sirius speaks for you. “She’s excited,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that makes your cheeks burn even hotter.

“Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Your mouth feels too dry to voice words, clearing your throat and humming quietly with a nod.

Sirius shifts again—not to do anything yet, not quite. Just closer, just a little deeper into the space between Remus’ thighs. And his hand finds yours without looking, fingers brushing against your knuckles. “Come closer,” he says, not to Remus—to you.

And so you do. Shuffling forward, inch by slow, painstaking inch, until you’re beside him, eyes wide and breath held.

Remus leans forward, just a little, and his hand reaches out—just barely skimming along the curve of your jaw. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice adopting a warmer cadance—you nod again.

And Sirius, still knelt beside you, presses his lips to your shoulder. A small kiss, silent comfort.

“Then watch closely, love,” he says, voice dark with purpose. “Because this is just the beginning.”

His presence beside you was magnetic—all controlled heat and focused intent—but what strikes you most is how steady he is—eveything silently screaming that he’s done this before. He’s led before. But right now, he’s doing it with you, and something about that felt almost sacred.

Remus leans back again, propping himself up with one hand now, the other resting loosely on his own thigh. His eyes are on you again. But this time, there’s no teasing. Just warmth. Just patience. A quiet welcome, like he’s holding a door open for you and waiting for you to cross the threshold in your own time.

“You don’t have to do anything yet,” he says gently, voice barely more than a breath. “Just stay. Just watch me.”

Too much to say and no air to say it with—you swallow thickly and straighten your back, mumbling a small okay. Sirius hums in approval, the sound vibrating low in his throat, and you feel it more than you hear it. His hand drifts up your back, fingers trailing lightly along your spine. Goosebumps rise in their wake.

He doesn’t rush—none of them do. That’s what makes it worse. Or better. Or unbearable.

Because it means every second stretches longer. Every glance, every brush of skin feels deliberate. Designed. Like they’re building something out of you—sculpting the moment with nothing but touch and breath and proximity.

Sirius finally leans up towards Remus, lips ghosting across his throat, his jaw, like a slow exhale of reverence. Remus lets his head tip back just a fraction—an invitation that Sirius gladly took, latching his lips to the skin with a hum.

And you’re still watching.

Still feeling everything—the drag of Remus’ breath when Sirius’ mouth reaches his collarbone, the subtle shift of Sirius’ hand as shifts on Remus’ thigh, curling and curving upwards, gripping at the flesh. But more than that…you feel them both waiting—for you.

Sirius turns to you again, hand drifting over to yours. He threads his fingers with yours this time, and something about that small act—so simple, yet so intimate—and it makes something tighten in your chest. Raising your joined hands slowly, deliberately, to Remus’ knee, pressing your palm against the warm line of his leg.

Your eyes dart up when you hear another hitching breath from above you, Remus’ adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, gaze locked on your hands—the heat spreading through the thin fabric that seperates you.

Sirius was bold—smirking at both yours and Remus’ reactions, sliding the hand that was pawing at Remus’ thigh and inching it up towards the hem of his shirt, baring the skin.

The pads of his fingers dimpled the flesh as he leaned closer—pressing his lips into the skin of his hips—earning him a low hum of approval from Remus. And you watched as he smirked against him. Following Sirius’ movements in a wave of confidence, you scooted closer—letting your hand trail up from his knee joining Sirius’ in the tugging of Remus’ shirt and you felt him shudder beneath your palm.

Resting your head slightly on his knee as your eyes followed Sirius, observing every move he made and the reactions they earned.

There was a clear tent in Remus’ trousers now, accompanied with a light flush on the tops of his cheekbones, and you couldn’t help but admire him—and as Sirius palmed at his bulge—forcing a groan from his throat. The object of your watchful gaze changed quickly.

Sirius’ fingers were hooked under the waist band of his trousers, waiting a moment—just letting his fingertips brush over the skin beneath it before he detatched his lips from Remus’ stomach.

Eyes dark and on you—watching as you stared at his palm that covered Remus’ middle.

He huffed a chuckled through his nose, licking his lips as he leaning in closer to you—breath fanning over the curve of your neck when he spoke, “Shall we get these off him, love?”

The sound of his voice tore your gaze away from his hand, taking your bottom lip into your mouth as you hummed back to him. And by the time his trousers pooled by his ankles, Sirius had a positively wolfish grin on his face—almost preening at your reaction.

Because not only did Remus hiss slightly at the feeling of the cold air, but your eyes visibly widened when his length slapped up towards his abdomen—pupils blowing right before Sirius’ eyes.

It’s not like you’d never felt Remus before, pressed against you, usually clad under clothing—but for some reason, you’d assumed it was smaller. Or maybe just not this big. Almost intimidatingly long and pretty—tip matching the blush of his cheeks.

Sirius only snickered lightly, leaning in—tongue already peaking out from his lips as he licked a strip from the bottom of his shaft, all the way up. And you watched as Remus’ hands twitched by his side, sucking in sharp breath as his brows pinched on his forehead. Your hands unconsiously gripped at the flesh of his thighs, eyeing Sirius’ movements with purpose.

When he pulled away, Remus’ length glistened just as much as Sirius’ lips—and you swallowed the saliva that had pooled in your mouth with a thick gulp the moment Sirius’ voice met your ears, low and candied.

“Doesn’t Rem look pretty?”

His smirk was dangerous as you nodded, words sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, just for you to hear—”Why don’t you tell him yourself, love?”

Remus was looking down at you both with half-lidded eyes, chest rising at a slightly faster pace than normal, hyper aware of the way your hand was curled around his thigh—trying his hardest to stay composed.

If the way you looked up at him, bleary and innocent, wasn’t enough to make his composure crack—the soft and sweet tone of your voice as it reached his ears was going to send him over the edge.

“Think you look so pretty, Rem,”

A low groan filled the air and his length physically jumped in Sirius’ hold—you noticed it straight away, eyes widening at the sight—staring at his middle intently.

Sirius was enjoying this all far too much, barely containing his delight as he caught your gaze, whispering “watch,” under his breath before he leaned in—taking Remus’ tip in his mouth while his hand worked small fists around the base.

And Remus’ eyes immediately screwed shut, voice trembling as he hissed out, “Fuck, Sirius,” hands fisting the sheets beside him when Sirius hummed around his length, taking more into his mouth.

You leaning in closer, eyes focused on each small motion that he made, each bob of his head, each moan that sounded from Remus.

He pulled his lips off with a satisfying pop—grinning at the way Remus shuddered against him, hand still twisting and pumping steadily around him.

Sirius had already diverted his attention to you—lips brushing against the curve of your jaw, his words ringing in your ears over and over. “Do you wanna try, sweetheart? Make Rem feel good?”

Your eyes scanned his face when he pulled back, nodding before you would really compute what it meant—before Sirius was shifting to the side, making space for you between Remus’ legs.

And it had your breath catching in your throat—Remus cracked an eye open at the rustling beneath him and his lips parted when your hand wrapped around his base.

Eyes flicker between Sirius and your hand. And you could feel the heat radiating off his length—when you twisted your hand upwards experimentally, he throbbed in your hand undeniably, gasping slightly.

Sirius all but preened at the reaction, leaning in and whispering a set on instruction into your ear, hand sliding down the curve of your spine in silent encouragement—to which you nodded to. Shifting your gaze back to Remus.

His self-control was fraying by the second, trying to be as still as possible, but having you between his legs, looking up at him with blown wide eyes—his resolve felt weak, and heat pooled in the pits of his stomach—sending all blood south.

Your palm was still dragging up his length in slow, tentative pumps—taking your time and trying not to think about it too hard. Sirius had made it look so easy, already having Remus breathless before he’d even touched him.

He could feel heat of your breath fanning over his length as you neared, gaze flitting up and down as you spoke softly, just barely above a whisper—but Remus heard it, like it was only for him.

“Can I?”

Gods, you were going to be the death of him. Nodding eagerly, words rushed and pinched; “Fuck—yes, dove,”

Careful and hesitantly, you leaned forward—tounge peaking out as you pressed it flush against the tip—eliciting a sharp shuddering gasp from Remus. And he used every cell in his brain to keep his eyes open, desperately wanting to be catch the moment your pretty lips wrapped around him.

Remus mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! when you finally do, tounge swirling and just barely sucking at the tip—and he squirmed in his seat when your head dipped lower, taking more of him in.

He wouldn’t dare tear his eyes away from the sight.

And when you pulled off of him, breathless, lips glistening, small strings of spit still connecting you—a small whispered Merlin sounded from beside you before you spoke, “s’that okay, Rem?”

Remus’ lips were stil parted, drinking in air greedily to fuel is racing pulse, palms sweaty and fidgetting at his side was he gulped, words breathy on an exhale, “more than okay—so good,”

Even that small praise was dizzying, it had your shoulder relaxing as an almost relieved and pleased smile twitched the corners of your lips.

Suddenly driven by a small confidence boost, you took him into your mouth again—earning you another low groan, his voice cracking at the end. You let your other hand trail up his thigh, resting along the short happy trail by your head—lowering your head further than the last time—humming slightly at the weight of him pressing onto your tongue.

Remus’ hips jumped involuntarily as he let out a loud moan—it sent his tip straight into the back of your throat and you jolted back with a choked gasp. Throat burning slightly drinking in sharp inhales of breath, cheeks flushed, face painted with a shocked expression.

Profuse, breatheless apologies already filled the space between you, “m’so sorry dove—didn’t mean to do that,” Remus shifting his weight onto one hand as he ran the other through his hair—eyes swiming with more unspoken apologies.

You were still trying to catch you breath, swallow the burning sensation that accompanied each breath—visibly confused for a moment as you looked to Sirius.

He didn’t look nearly as concerned as Remus did, which was comforting—because you couldn’t figure out what went wrong.

One hand was rubbing small circles into the small of your back, and the other trailed up and down Remus’ thigh as he spoke, lips curving into a smirk at your expression.

“The vibrations, sweetheart.” He leaned in closer, pressing a small kiss to the thin skin beneath your ear as he continued, “Made Rem feel…so good when you hummed—that’s why he did that, love,”

His lips on your neck were rather distracting, taking a few moments to respond with nothing more than a small, “Oh.”

And Sirius’ lips just stretched into a grin as he muttered into your skin, “Wanna try again?” Sighing contently into him, you nodded—eyes falling dark and back onto Remus.

The whispered instructions Sirius gave you echoed in your mind, take your time—but now when you pressed your tongue flat against the vein on the underside of his length—you were having other ideas.

Watching closely, looking up at Remus when you closed your lips around him, taking him in deeper, inch by inch—spurred on by the strangled moans that built in his throat.

Pausing a few inches from the base before reeling back and repeating—squeezing your thighs together when SIrius’ praise, velvet and soft reached your ears.

“Fuck—thaat’s it, sweetheart.”

Sirius tucked a straggling hair behind your ears, humming in approval as you focused on the tip, hand still fisting the base—and Remus was shaking beneath, using all his brain power to not buck into your touches, groaning out, “Oh- Oh fuck! Feels s’good hngh-” as he fisted the sheets with white knuckles.

You had no intention of rushing, slowly bobbing up and down, relishing in the salacious moans that ripped through Remus’ throat and the way he twitched and throbbed on your tongue.

But it was like a little devil was whispering into your ear, polluting your thoughts—egging you on to take more.

Letting your hand slip to rest on his stomach—all you wanted to do was make him feel good—sucking in a deep breath through your nose before swallowing around the tip; eliciting a lewd gasping groan from Remus.

But you kept going, dipping your head further, forcing every muscle to relax—not stopping till your nose met the small brown hairs at this pelvis.

Eyes squeezing shut, whimpering at the burn and stretch.

Remus’ jaw slacked, and he lost it—hands reliquishing their grip on the sheets in favour for your hair, eyes rolling back in his head as he gasped out “Shit shit shit oh-dove,”

God, Remus already thinks he could pass out.

Even as you pulled back—lips wet and eyes glossy—lungs burning as you drank in shuddering gasps of air, Sirius’ voice falling deaf on your ears. You can’t find it in you to mind the mild discomfort, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you looked up at Remus.

He truly was a sight.

Chest heaving, hair mussed, flush spreading from the tips of his ears to the center of his cheeks, his hand carding through your hair as his panted. Sirius was by your side still, speaking lowly again, “you okay, love? d’you need a minute?” pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

You shook your head almost instantly, gaze still locked on Remus as you muttered, “Wanna keep going,” Already leaning forward and taking Remus back into your hands.

He’d barely had enough time to recover before you took him back into your mouth, instinctively collecting your hair in a loose handful to keep it out of your face as you sunk down again.

Sirius was light praises and the gutteral moans that left Remus sending heat curling directly to your core—each hushed candied whisper of; ‘gooood girl’ and ‘taking him so well’ dizzying you.

When you sunk to the base again, willing away the slight gag that built in your chest, Remus’ hips bucked up into your mouth, his grip on your hair tightening—but instead of pulling off completely, you kept his tip buried in your plush mouth—whimpers muffled and tears prickling at your waterline, while you tried to steady your breathing.

Remus’ body shook as he spouted out delirously “Fuck—shit, m’sorry, sweetheart. S’too ngh—fucking good.” words were slurred and rushed, drunk off the way you swallowed and hummed around him.

He cracked his eyes open, when your fingertips pressed into the flesh of his thighs, steadying yourself, and the sight of you almost had impossibly closer to the edge—coil in his stomach tightening when you looked up at him.

Tears clingling to your lashes, lips stretching lewdly around him with each bob and he could feel his sanity slipping away with each small whine that built in your throat.

Sirius leaned into you again, voice low and sultry in your ears, “Fuck, angel—he’s not gonna last long. d’you want him to cum?” you just leaned in closer—even as Remus gently tugged to pull you away. You didn’t let up, hallowing your cheeks with a muffled moan and he went rigid beneath your touch, spilling into your mouth in hot spurts.

Jaw slacking as his voice cracked—his high still washing over him, “fuckfuckfuck—mmfgh! dove, so good,” shuddering as you pulled off of him. Sirius immediately pressing small kisses to your skin, whispering hypnotically into your ear, “mmhm—swallow f’me, sweetheart,”

Your cheeks flushed further at his words, ignoring the way your lungs still burned for air as you swallowed—hearing Sirius hum in approve when your lips parted, sucking in deep breaths of air—leaning slightly into his hold.

Remus quickly leant down to you, trousers already resting low on his hips again. Tugging you out of Sirius’ hold and onto his lip, pressing his lips firmly onto yours, groaning at the contact.

Thighs splitting over his hips as he tugged you to straddle him fully, hands already smoothing up your sides, greedy in the way they gripped and slid and roamed like he couldn’t get enough, muttering against your lips, “throat alright, pet?” biting back the smirk that threatened to play on his lips.

His kiss was bruising—all tongue and teeth and breathy groans. You barely had time to catch your breath, nodding mindlessly, before you were chasing his mouth again, whimpering softly into the kiss as his hips shifted up, pressing flush to you with no shame, no hesitation.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as he licked into your mouth, pulling a gasp from your lips. Warm, solid beneath you, and the way he was touching you—like he was mapping every inch of skin he could reach—sent your head spinning.

Remus grunted softly, breaking the kiss only to press hot kisses down your jaw, your neck, and then he shifted—gripping your hips tightly and guiding you back until your spine hit the mattress. You stared up at him, pupils blown and chest heaving, dazed and flushed, legs parted beneath the weight of his gaze.

He didn’t move for a moment—just hovered over you, smirking down, letting his hands drag slowly down your ribs as your stomach fluttered beneath his palms. But your attention snagged when you noticed movement at the edge of your vision.

James.

He was sitting there at the edge of the bed, still and watching you with a heat in his eyes that made your skin prickle. His gaze didn’t waver, making your breath catch in your throat, back arching instinctively under Remus' hands.

Remus turned his head just slightly, catching James’ expression—and the smirk that curved his lips deepened. Dipping back down, mouth brushing yours with a teasing slowness before murmuring low against your lips, “Jamie has something to ask you, pet.”

Before you could even process the words, James was shifting forward, one knee sinking into the mattress as he leaned in close to your ear—his curls brushing your cheek, voice low and velvet-smooth as he said,

“Can I taste you, sweetheart?”

The world narrowed to the rasp of his voice, the heat of their bodies, and the deafening thrum of your heartbeat in your ears. Remus had already slipped away from you, and you hadn’t even had time to mourn the loss before James was pressed against you.

Lips easily finding the curve of your jaw, kissing and nipping a trail to your collarbone—palms of his hands hot against your skin. Wasting no time to bare the skin of your stomach, touch incessant and insatiable.

Even as you stuttered out, mind foggy and breathless, the end of your sentence loosing itself in the thickness of the air. “…You w-wanna…” hips twitching up into him as his lifted the hem of your top up and over your head.

Connecting your lips again deeper, hungrier, his molding into yours in perfect rhythm.

Pulling away for just to pepper marks down your neck, kisses wet and firm to your skin, punctuating his words, “Mmhm, wanna taste you…make you feel good,”

You couldn’t focus on his words even if you tried, each touch more dizzying than the last, heat curling unforgivingly in the pits of your stomach, gasping out his name when his hand slid between your thighs—cupping your core over your shorts.

Fingers tangled into the short tufts at the nape of his neck and he continued his assault on your skin, relishing in the small gasps your let out as he nibbled at a spot that he’d already marked. Grinning into your skin as you bucked helplessly into his palm, hips unconsciously search for friction.

Whining out, “J-jamie,” when he pressed his hand firmer against you—squirming beneath him, as he hummed lowly. Words making your ears burn tenfold, as he pressed his lips into the curved of your breast, already working his way down to your core, “want you to cum in my mouth, love,”

Legs were already slung over his shoulder before you could really compute his vulgar sentences, gasping when his hands carrassed and pawed at the flesh of your thighs, mind spinning, pulse thumping you didn’t notice Sirius planting himself beside you—

“Jamie’s really good with his mouth. Gna let him take care of you?”

You were already nodding mindlessly when James pressed a kiss over your clothed core, and your entire body shuddered. Hands taking purchase on the sheets beside you, gasping as heat spread invasively under the surface of your skin.

James’ fingers were hooked under the waist band of your bottoms, using his body to raise your hips and peel them off your in a clean, swift swipe—leaving you bare and breathless. Heat coiling in your stomach at the sight of him between your legs, indulging himself with each kiss he planted onto your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to your dripping core.

Goosebumps raising over your thighs when the rough pads of his fingers dragged over the flesh, spreading your legs further apart. James’ lips split into a far too pleased smirk at the sight of your folds, glistening and slick, his breath fanning over you when he spoke,

“ooo, all wet from making Rem feel good, huh?”

All you could do was squirm under his hold, one leg still hooked over his shoulder—his other hand trailing up your slit, spreading you as he nibbled lightly at your inner thigh, words muffled by the thin flesh, “Sooo pretty, love,”

Choking out a gasp when he pressed a soft kiss to the swole bundle of nerves, thighs twitching by his head. He looked up at you, drinking in each small micro reaction with a smug smirk—watching as your eyes screwed shut when he laid his tongue flat against your core.

Fingers teasing along the edge of your folds, hooking his other hand around your thigh when you inched away from him. In a single fluid movement, he pushes passes the tight ring of muscles and into your core, humming against your clit when a loud whimper sounded above him.

It was all so intense so suddenly, warm between your legs and curving his digits roughly into your plush walls. Forcing out babbled cries from your lips, “Ngh—Jamie, oh god—James!” Hand resigning its hold on the sheets in exchange for a loose purchase on his hair.

Your head lolled back into the pillows, brows arched high on your forehead as your jaw slacked when he curled his fingers up up up, searching for the familiar spot that had you bucking into him.

White-hot jolts of pleasure running from the base of your spine where James was indulging himself. Moaning into your core as he shuffled forward, helplessly grinding against the sheets beneath him—burying his face further into you.

The coil in your stomach was threatening to snap under the pressure that James was steadily building. Bullying thrusts into you as he took your clit between his flushed lips—tears stinging in your eyes as you tried to buck away from the harsh sucking of his lips.

Crying out in a pitched hoarse voice, incoherent babbles littered with his name, releasing your grip on his curls to push him away before you accidentally pulled out hairs.

James cracked his eyes open, and caught your hand, intertwining your fingers and pulling you closer to him—locked in with no escape. His hips becoming more frantic in their ruts against the mattress, chasing his high as he pushes you closer to yours.

Muffled between the obscene laps of his lips at your core, words littered with groans that sent shivers down your spine, “mmm, cum f’me, love…wanna—feel,” filing your ears as your back formed an arch.

His hips were already stuttering when you gasped about a choked sob, squeezing his hand to ground yourself as your high washed over you in cruel unforgiving waves. Each stronger than the last as James continued to work you through it—walls clenching around his fingers as stars clouded your eyes.

Shaking and trembling against him, his name spilling from your lips like it was the only prayer you knew.

When he detached, lips flushed and glistening, pupils blown and a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. You’d just barely blinked back your vision, whimpering when he pulled his digits away—thighs trying to squeeze shut at the sensation.

You were still breathless, chest heaving and gaze unfocused when your head rolled—catching sight of Sirius. Name immediately slipping past your lips in a hushed whisper.

And he looked at you with such unfair warmth, cheeks just as flushed as yours—painfully hard and tenting in his bottoms. Automatically cooing out small praises as the aftershocks of your high subsided, but you still kept whispering his name—over and over until he inched closer.

Coaxed by your hand reaching out, all but clawing at his forearm. And when he was just close enough that you didn’t have to strain your hoarse voice, he heard it.

Low and breathy and sweet in his ears, “Want you.” And it had his breath catching in his throat, eyes travelling over your bare figure as you turned, leaning into him. Sirius just pressed a kiss to your forehead, almost brushing off your words as delirium.

But you almost whined when his hand stroked the stray hairs away from forehead, words soft and gentle. “rest, love.” And then Sirius heard it again, as firm as your voice could handle—looking at him through your lashes—flush in your cheeks just barely settling.

“Want more, Siri…want you,” sucking in a sharp inhale—finding air to support your voice, “Wanna go all the way.”

Staring at him with a glint in your eyes that made his head spin—his pulse suddenly much louder beneath his spin. “Y’know you don’t have to, love. There’s plenty of time later—“

Craning your neck up, your pressed a soft kiss to his lips, cutting him off. Before just as quickly as you came in, pulling away—words barely above a whisper. “You don’t want to?”

His stomach dropped, instantly shaking his head, “It’s not that. I want to—believe me, I do. Just don’t wanna pressure you, sweetheart,”

You were still staring up at him, giving him that look—that soft pleading look that said don’t make me say it again, heat curling beneath your cheeks as he leaned in.

His hands were on your waist as he kissed you—trying to take his time, be slow and gentle but you pushed back into him with a vigour that had his resolve fraying instantly.

The kiss deepened, and you felt Sirius melt into you—hands flexing against your waist as if grounding himself. His breath shuddered into your mouth as your hands roamed upward, threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him impossibly closer.

“Fuck—” he whispered against your lips, voice low, like a confession. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You only hummed in response, arching slightly beneath his weight, and Sirius groaned—deep and ragged—as your hips brushed his.

That sound went straight to your head—heat coiling in your stomach as you rolled your hips again, deliberately, and his lips parted against yours in a gasp before he dragged his mouth down—jaw, throat, collarbone—leaving a trail of reverent kisses that made your skin burn.

His voice rasped against the curve of your neck, “You’re sure, love?”

Fingers cupped his face, guiding him back up so you could look him in the eye. Your expression was soft but certain, gaze unwavering.

“I’m sure, Sirius.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, almost something sacred in the way his lips moved over yours. Like he was memorising the shape of your mouth—like he was thanking you with every breath—clothes peeling off in a flurry of movement. Then you felt his hand slide lower, gripping your thigh, guiding you to wrap around his waist as he shifted to settle between your legs—eyes never leaving yours.

“You tell me to stop,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, “and I stop. Understand?”

You nodded, a small sound escaping your throat—something between a yes and a please—and Sirius swore under his breath, kissing you again, deeper, like he couldn't help himself. Gripping onto his shoulders with a desperate hand, trying to pull him in closer, flush against you, as if to fall into him—become one.

It was only when you felt him, hot and firm against your folds that a small gasp slipped past your lips—his eyes were still on you, searching for any hesitation, signs of protest—but he couldn’t find any. Sirius was only met with your flushed cheeked and bleary expression, breathless and soft beneath him.

He found himself chasing your lips, muttering against them, “Gods, you’re so pretty,” As his length rested over and twitched against your core—he could hear the way your breath hitched with each slow and tentative rock he pushed against your folds. Tempting, teasing—and it forced whines and gasps from your lips at the friction.

One heated palm trailed down the side of your body, ghostly far too gentle touches—still swallowing each small mewl that built in your throat—before you felt his hand hitch up your thigh, leaning in closer—making room for himself. Your hands found purchase on the long curls that hung by base of his scalp—carding and tugging when you felt him press into you. Body stiffening as your brows pinched.

A sharp gasp of his name spilt from your lips at the stretch, and he froze—lips parted, eyes squeezed shut before he cracked them open, fingertips tracing nonsense patterns into the skin of your waist. Concern swimming behind his eyes when he spoke, “D’you wanna stop?”

Hips shifting unconsciously as you shook your head—and you both hissed at the friction, chests rising and falling in shaky uneven breaths as he slowly pushed further into you—walls clinging to him, plush and soaked—and it had both your heads spinning.

Thighs quivering beside his hips as your jaw slacked, “O-oh-” Moans and mewls tumbling out of your mouth before you even realised, the stretch had your spine arching as you all but drooled around his length. Sirius was still trying to be patient, placing small kisses along the curve of your neck, your jaw, the thin sensitive skin behind your ear—whispering lightly into your skin.

It was when you sucked him in deeper after the first thrust—hips bucking up in a filthy cadance that had your vision blurrying—that Sirius almost cracked. Hands flying to your hips to keep you still, to keep his sanity, groaning out as he reeled back slightly, “f-fuuck, sweetheart—haah, hold on,”

Squeezing his eyes shut, evoking the patience of a saint to keep each drag of his hips slow and steady—but slow wasn’t going to cut it. Not when the room was spinning, not when all you could think about was Sirius Sirius Sirius, every sense overwhelmed by him, not when you could feel each vein dragging sinfully against your walls.

Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears—pitched, shaky, airy—with each whimpering plea that spilled out, “Hnngh—please, Siri. Ah! s-s’good,” If the chanting of your hips up up up didn’t break him, the sweet ring of your voice in his ears surely did. His head fell into the dip of your neck, cursing under his breath, grip on your hips tightening as he dragged his hips back before pushing all the way in with one languid thrust.

Each nerve was set alight, spine arching into him with a deep curve as a lewd cry tore its way out of you. His eyes threatened to roll back in his head at the way your walls spasmed around him with each weight rut—but he’d forced them open, stuck on you—memorising the way you looked beneath him, overcome with pleasure.

Grasping and clawing at every part of him, and he was no better—pads of his fingers pressing bruisingly into your flesh, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth. Nothing slow and tentative anymore, every shift, and moan, and thrust was feverish—chasing and pushing you further to the edge.

“f-fuck you feel so good—mmfph! taking it so well, love. so good f’me,”

And then, Sirius was angling his hips upwards—urgently, desperately—the hot coil in the pits of your stomach suddenly impossibly tighter as his tip barrelled into that spot, your vision darkened at the edges and tears sprung at the corners of your hazy eyes—thighs trembling from the striking jolts of pleasure that ran through you. Radiating from the base of your spine out.

You were all but melting into the sheets beneath you—staring up at Sirius with a bleary dazed expression, incoherent mewls mixing with his name like a mantra.

Walls clinging to him impossibly tighter with each ram—and he wasn’t going to last much longer, eyes squeezing shut as he nipped and kissed at the skin of your jaw.

Words muffled as he pressed his lips against yours. Hand resigning its bruising grip on your hips to slip between you, thumb rubbing small circles into the over sensitive bundle of nerves—mumbling into your skin when your jaw hung, “c’mon love, need you to let go—f-fuck, please,”

All the muscles in your body became taut, brows pinching impossibly higher on your forehead as your high crashed over you—trembling and shivering as he worked you through it, gasping out as your mind practically shattered.

Vision black, ears ringing before becoming completely boneless.

He was barely holding on when your clamped down onto him, forcing himself out of your core and spilling onto your stomach with an salacious moan, shuddering out breathy whispers of your name. Collapsing onto you lightly, brushing hairs out of your face—small delicate pecks pressing into your jaw.

One hand skimming over the side of your waist, soft and gentle whispers fading away—body resigning itself to sleep.

a/n:this is 7 words away from being 11k....insane

926 notes · View notes

trashforbarzal · 15 days ago

Text

wasteland, baby.

Summary: Your journey with Auston during the 2024 playoffs, where everything changes.

We need to talk.

Four words no one EVER wants to hear from their partner. Or read. Or...anything.

Auston had sent the text exactly 18 minutes ago and you’d been spiraling ever since.

You were sitting in your car outside his condo for at least ten of those minutes, engine off, fingers clenched tight around the steering wheel as if you could throttle the meaning out of that one vague, horrible sentence.

Did he want to break up? Did he cheat? Did he ask for a trade? Had he realized that dating you was some sort of colossal mistake and now he had to fix it before playoffs?

Your chest was tight, stomach twisted up in a knot that might never come undone.

You don’t even remember walking up to the door.

With a trembling hand, you forced yourself to knock. It’s not loud. Just a soft, uneven tap-tap-tap that gives you away before you even open your mouth.

The door swings open.

He's standing there in sweats and a hoodie, hat on with tufts of hair sticking out of the back, curls damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower. He looks tired—more than tired. Haunted by back-to-back home losses and whatever weight comes with being Auston Matthews in April. Even in the midst of leading the league in goals.

"Hey," he says softly, voice lower than usual. His eyes flick across your face like he’s reading your pulse in every blink.

"Hi." The word barely escapes your lips. You clear your throat, forcing your chin up. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean ‘get it over with?’”

You laugh—but it’s brittle, edged in panic.

“Auston, you literally texted me ‘we need to talk.’ That's the universal code for ‘I think we should break up.’ Everyone knows that.”

He hesitates for a second and you're seriously regretting every decision you’ve ever made because it has led you to this very moment.

And then he laughs—a short, exhale of disbelief—and runs a hand down his face. “Babe, no. Oh my god. No, that’s not—I didn’t mean it like that.”

He steps back, letting you in. Felix trails behind him, tail wagging like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. He noses at your leg, whines softly.

You blink down at him. “Hey, buddy,” you whisper, scratching behind his ears. Felix presses into you like he can sense the leftover adrenaline in your bones.

Auston waits until you take off your shoes before tugging you into his arms, wrapping you up like he needs to feel you breathing to relax.

He kisses the top of your head. Then your temple. Then your lips—slow, careful, like he’s afraid you’re still going to vanish.

If this is the last kiss you’re ever going to get, you want to savor it before he gives you whatever earth shattering news he’s holding onto.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I should’ve phrased it better. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Your hands slide under the hem of his hoodie, settling against the warm skin of his back. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest. It’s a little fast. Yours still hasn’t slowed.

“Then what did you want to talk about?” you ask, quieter now.

He sighs and guides you to the couch, where Felix hops up and curls into his usual spot. Auston sits beside you, close enough to touch, but still a little tense.

“The playoffs,” he says, voice low. “I just, I wanted to be honest. The schedule’s brutal. I’m gonna be gone a lot, and even when I’m not physically gone, I might not feel totally here, y’know?”

You nod, throat tight. He glances at you and keeps going.

“I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring you, or losing interest, or pulling away. I care about you. So much. More than I expected to this early on. But I also—this is the biggest part of my year. The goal is the Cup. It always has been. I need to be locked in with the boys, and I just didn’t want that to come off like I was locking you out.”

There’s a pause. You let his words settle. Let yourself believe him. Trust him.

You take a breath. “I get it, Aus. I do.” You curl your fingers around his. “This is your job. Your dream. I’m not here to get in the way of that. So thank you. For saying it instead of just disappearing.”

His shoulders relax just enough that you notice it. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ll miss you like hell. But I’d miss you even more if you lost yourself trying to split in two.”

He exhales a breath you didn’t realize he was holding. His eyes soften, the kind of look that makes your chest ache.

“God, you’re so great.”

“Yeah, I know,” you deadpan, nudging him lightly. “So great I thought you were going to break up with me and still came over.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth—gentle, warm, apologetic. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

You nod. “It’s okay. Just…please try your best to come back with the Cup.”

He laughs quietly, resting his forehead against yours. “That’s the goal.”

“Ah, I see what you did there.”

The hours pass too quickly, the evening a blur of quiet conversation, shared silences, and Felix curling up at your feet like he’s guarding something precious. When it’s time to leave, Auston walks you to the door, his fingers laced through yours like letting go would physically hurt.

You're not ready either.

You pause just before reaching for the handle, turning to face him. He’s already watching you— his honey brown eyes hooded and warm, like he’s memorizing every detail of your face in high definition for the days he won’t be able to see it. His thumb strokes the inside of your wrist—barely there, but enough to make your breath catch.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” you ask, teasing, but not really.

His smile curves, slow and deliberate. “You have to go,” he murmurs, stepping closer, close enough for your bodies to brush. “Because if you don’t, I’m gonna forget every single thing I just said about staying focused.”

You tilt your chin up, matching his energy. “I wouldn’t complain.”

He leans in, close enough for his breath to ghost across your lips. “You’re not helping. At all."

Then his mouth is on yours.

It starts soft—sweet, even—but there's a heat humming beneath it, a current that builds as his hands slide to your waist and pull you flush against him. You melt into the kiss, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers diving into the curls at the nape of his neck. He groans softly into your mouth, a low, involuntary sound that makes your stomach flip.

You kiss him like you’re trying to make the next nine days disappear. Like maybe if you pour enough of yourself into this moment, it’ll last.

His grip tightens, then roams—up your spine, firm and steady, anchoring you to him. Your hips brush, and the spark of contact lights you both up from the inside out. His tongue slides against yours, slow and deliberate, until your knees weaken and your back finds the support of the wall behind you.

He pulls away just enough to whisper against your lips, breath ragged. “You really know how to test my self-control, don’t you?”

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly across the back of his neck. “I like seeing you flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” he lies—then kisses you again, harder this time. Like he’s trying to undo the inevitable. Like he’s trying to burn the taste of you into memory.

Felix huffs from the couch, dramatic and perfectly timed.

Auston leans his head back and laughs, breathless. “Cockblock.”

You both laugh, but when you meet his eyes again, the moment hangs heavier. The goodbye lingering between you starts to settle.

He reaches for the door again, but your fingers curl around his wrist.

“I just need one more. Something to hold me over while you're gone,” you murmur, already stepping into him.

He walks you backward until your hips bump the kitchen counter, then lifts you up like it’s nothing. The cool surface meets the backs of your thighs, but all you can focus on is him—his hands holding your face, his mouth crashing into yours. This kiss is heat and want, all breath and desperation, his tongue sliding against yours with a low, wrecked sound in the back of his throat.

One of his hands disappears into your hair, angling your head so he can kiss you deeper. You feel him everywhere—his chest against yours, the pressure of his fingertips, the tension barely leashed in the way he moves.

When he finally pulls back for air, his lips hover against yours. “Jesus,” he whispers. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You breathe out a soft laugh, forehead resting against his. “Just giving you a little extra motivation.”

You hop off the counter, legs a little wobbly, and reach for the door again.

“Call me when you land in Boston?” you ask, fingers lingering on the handle.

He nods. “I will. Promise.”

You step outside. The air feels colder somehow.

He doesn’t close the door right away. Just watches you walk to the elevator. You glance back just before the doors close.

Auston is still there.

One hand braced on the doorframe. A ghost of a smile.

Eyes on you like he’s trying to count the seconds until he gets to see you again.

You don’t say goodbye.

Neither does he.

You just keep looking.

Until the doors close, and he’s gone.

The next nine days are a blur. Deadlines, meetings, scrolling through your phone like it might bring him closer. But living in Toronto while dating one of the city’s biggest public figures?

Painful.

He’s everywhere. You see his face on billboards during your drive to work, his voice sounds in commercials over brunch, he's on highlight reels in the background of bars. And yes, you’ve texted here and there. A few “good mornings,” the occasional “how was practice.” But it’s not the same. It’s not his voice in your ear, or his hand on the small of your back. It's not him.

And no one really knows. You haven’t told your friends—partly because you’re not ready to share, partly because you know what would follow. Questions, curiosity. Some would want to meet him. Others would ask for tickets. Everyone would have something to say. You’ve only said you’re seeing someone. That you’re happy. That’s all they need to know.

Auston’s not known for putting his business out there anyway. Rumors, speculations, grainy photos in the offseason—but two public relationships in eight NHL seasons tells you all you need to know. Privacy matters. And the last thing you need is someone digging up photos of you from grade eight.

Game one in Boston? A disaster.

5–1. Not the kind of start anyone wanted. Not you. Not the city. Definitely not the team.

You didn’t hear from him that night. Twenty-one minutes of ice time probably left him drained and face-first in a hotel pillow before you even left your friend's house, where you'd been watching the game. Still, the next morning you texted him—something simple. One game doesn’t define the series. Game two is yours.

You didn’t expect a reply. But he liked the message. Sent a single blue heart.

And somehow, that was enough of a boost of energy to get you out of bed.

You cleaned your apartment, packed a week’s worth of clothes, and drove downtown to Auston’s. Melissa, his dog sitter, greeted you warmly. Felix had already gone for his walk, she said, and was snoozing by the window when you stepped inside. The second he spotted you, though, the fluffball practically launched himself into your legs, whining until you scooped him into a hug.

Being with Felix felt like being with Auston. He was spoiled, dramatic, and occasionally too smart for his own good—but so, so sweet. The two of them were more alike than you’d ever tell them.

By the time puck drop rolled around for game two, Felix was tucked against your side, one paw on your thigh, his head resting on it like you were a human pillow. He stayed there the entire game.

And Auston? He played out of his mind.

One goal. Two assists. A 3–2 win to tie the series.

The second the final buzzer sounded, your heart jumped into your throat. He was coming home. And the only thing you wanted was to kiss him. Talk to him. Feel him.

You felt like some army wife waiting for her husband to return from war—only, you weren’t married, you were staying in a million-dollar condo, and his version of war was a high-stakes hockey tournament with a thirty-pound silver trophy at the end of it.

It was just past 1 a.m. when you heard the door open. A soft shuffle, the click of keys hitting the counter. Then—

There he was.

Auston didn’t even bother putting his bags down properly. He just dropped them by the door and walked straight into the living room.

Right to you.

You barely had time to register him before he dropped onto the couch, onto you, arms wrapping around you like he could fold you into his chest.

“You’ve been home for five minutes and you’re already trying to suffocate me?”

“Suffocation’s my love language,” he mumbles, shifting so you’re straddling his lap. “Now, there's something I've been thinking about since the minute you left last time.”

He kisses you slowly, thoroughly—like he’s trying to remember every curve of your mouth. His lips are soft, his hands warm on your back, and God, he smells like hotel shampoo and his usual cologne and a little bit like sweat and flight delays. You breathe it in like oxygen.

He’s home.

One of Auston’s favorite things about you—though he’s never really said it out loud—is that you’re his escape. With you, he’s not #34. Not the guy expected to carry a franchise. You don’t pepper him with stats or ask him about power plays or bring up what the Toronto media thinks he should’ve done on the penalty kill. You just... talk. Or don’t. Sometimes it’s enough to sit in silence and let the noise of the outside world fade.

Tonight, you talk about the Biebers’ baby announcement. How he wants you to meet Justin and Hailey soon. You ramble about brunch—some crème brûlée French toast you swear changed your life. He insists his chef Chris needs to steal the recipe immediately.

“I missed this,” he whispers into your neck. “Nine days was a really long time.”

“It was,” you admit, jaw cracking with a yawn. “I hated it.”

“Me too.” He yawns too, stretching with a groan. “You ready for bed?”

You nod, letting him pull you up off the couch, stealing a quick kiss.

Felix sprints up the stairs the second you stand—clearly knowing the drill. You both brush your teeth side by side, bumping shoulders in the mirror. Auston hands you one of his shirts—your favorite, the worn-soft one with the tiny hole near the collar.

You fall asleep with your head on his chest, legs tangled, his breath warm on your hair.

And for the first time in over a week, your world feels like it's moving at a normal pace.

2:47 a.m.

Auston had passed out the second his head hit the pillow. The kind of dead-to-the-world sleep that only happens after a grueling game and days of travel. It lasted exactly thirty-two minutes.

He’d felt off since the plane landed—achy, sore, heavier than he should feel two games into a series. At first, he’d chalked it up to playoff wear and tear. But now?

Now his insides were twisting violently, like his stomach was trying to crawl out through his throat. A cold sweat had broken out along his spine. He threw the duvet off, rolled onto his side, curled in on himself, and clenched his eyes shut like that would stop it.

He was overheating, but shivering. Skin on fire, teeth nearly chattering. He took long, slow breaths—counting them like he could outlast it.

He couldn’t.

An hour later he was lurching out of bed, barely making it to the toilet before he vomited so hard it knocked the wind out of him. His arms trembled as he clutched the rim, back arched in protest, body betraying him over and over.

The sound of retching yanked you out of sleep like a violent thunderstorm.

Your first real night of deep sleep in days, wrecked in seconds.

Immediately, you sat upright, heart pounding, reaching for Auston. All you found were empty sheets. Then you heard it again. Guttural, awful, the sound of someone being ripped inside out.

You scrambled into the bathroom.

“Oh my god, baby.”

He was on the floor, hunched over the toilet, dripping sweat. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through. His hands were white-knuckled on the porcelain, arms visibly shaking from the effort.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” you whispered, kneeling beside him, your hand rubbing firm circles over his shoulder blades.

“F—fuck,” he panted, head hanging. “It hit so fast—I couldn’t—”

He gagged again, jerking forward violently, ribs seizing. You winced as he coughed and spat and gasped for breath, his body wrung dry but still convulsing.

“Okay,” you murmured, trying to sound calm. “Um—I’m gonna grab some water. Don’t move.”

He groaned. “I honestly don’t think I can.”

You flushed the toilet for him. He slumped forward, resting his head on the cool ceramic, breathing hard. Felix padded in behind you and curled up beside him protectively, like he sensed something was really wrong.

You bolted downstairs—panic fueling your movements. You grabbed water bottles, painkillers, a bottle of Prime, and, miraculously, a thermometer from the back of a guest bathroom drawer. You returned to the bathroom moments later, breathless.

Auston had managed to rinse his mouth. Barely. He looked like hell. Pale. Damp. Eyes glassy with fever. Felix now sat practically in his lap.

You dropped to your knees and pressed the thermometer into his mouth. “Here, water. Just sip. Slowly. Do you feel any better?”

He shook his head, lips pressed shut around the thermometer. You soaked a washcloth in cold water, wrung it out, and pressed it to the back of his neck.

Beep.

You looked down.

103.1

Your stomach dropped. Your brain short-circuited.

Auston was sick. Really sick. And no one knew. Not the team. Not the media. Not his coach. Just you. And game three was in thirty-seven hours.

You watched, helpless, as he threw up again—water, this time. His body couldn’t keep anything down.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, voice shaking. “You’re okay. Just let it out.”

Once the worst of it passed, he let you help him stand. He was dead weight against you, legs barely cooperating. You guided him to bed, peeled off his damp shirt, and laid a fresh towel across the pillow before easing him back down. You laid the cool rag across his forehead.

He blinked at you—eyes glazed with fever.

“Baby,” you said gently, “I need to unlock your phone. Just for a second.”

He didn’t argue. Just barely raised his head as you held it up. His face unlocked it, and he collapsed right back onto the bed.

Who the hell were you going to call? You'd met Steph Marner in passing, once. You didn't even know if Sheldon Keefe knew you existed so that was out of the question. You scrolled through his extensive contact list and settled upon your safest choice.

Judd.

Auston's agent and basically his right hand man. Judd went with him everywhere. He would know exactly what to do. You shared the contact with yourself and put Auston's phone back on the charger, immediately calling your new lifeline.

No answer. His phone must have been on Do Not Disturb. You weren't surprised, it was barely 6am.

You called again.

And again.

Finally—on the fourth ring—his sleepy voice on the end of the line hit your ears. "This is Judd. Who is this?"

“Hi—it’s me. Y/N. I’m really sorry, I know it’s early, but—Auston’s sick. Really sick. And I didn’t know who else to call.”

There was rustling on the other end. A sharp breath and a few curse words. “How bad?”

“Bad. His fever’s 103. He can’t keep water down. He’s sleeping now but I don’t think he could stand up again if he tried.”

“Okay. Okay, good job. I’ll get the team docs over within the hour. I’m on my way.”

“Thank you,” you exhaled. “Seriously.”

“You did the right thing. Just keep him cool. I’ll see you soon.”

Just like Judd promised, Dr. Forman and half the Leafs medical staff arrived in what felt like minutes, filing into Auston’s bedroom with quiet urgency. It was like watching a pit crew descend on a totaled race car.

They took vitals, blood pressure, checked his pupils, asked questions you didn’t know how to answer—when did the vomiting start? Was there a fever spike? Had he eaten sushi in the last 48 hours?

The moment they hooked up the IV and you saw the clear liquid drip into his arm, you had to swallow hard against a wave of emotion. Auston didn’t even flinch. His arm lay limp at his side, barely twitching when the needle went in. Even though the man was covered in tattoos and built like a linebacker, that scared you more than anything.

His skin was graying. His lips looked painfully dry. And he hadn’t said a full sentence in over an hour.

The doctors promised to monitor him throughout the day and said they’d reassess later to determine his availability for game three.

You already knew what Auston would say. “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t sure he'd be able to get out of bed today, let alone play a full game tomorrow.

They were gone within the hour, replaced by a series of soft knocks on the front door.

You padded downstairs, assuming it was Judd again—maybe back with more electrolytes or a doctor from Switzerland. Instead, you opened the door to four people...and immediately wished you were wearing literally anything else.

Two older adults stood in front, both holding suitcases. The woman had warm, curious eyes. The man had a neutral expression, the kind that probably didn’t change much in crisis—or weddings. Behind them stood two younger women, both staring at you like they’d just walked in on a very intense hostage situation.

There was a pause.

You suddenly became extremely aware of the fact that you were in one of Auston’s oversized hoodies, with a visible stain near the pocket, and your hair looked like you’d been electrocuted during a tornado. Which was, coincidentally, how you felt.

“Hi,” the woman said gently, stepping forward. “I’m Ema. Auston’s mom.”

You immediately stepped aside, trying not to panic. “Oh—hi! Yes! Come in, sorry. I just—yeah. Sorry.”

“This is my husband Brian,” she continued, gesturing. “And these are our daughters, Alex and Bre.”

“I’m Y/N,” you said quickly. “I...I don’t know if Auston’s mentioned me.”

“He has,” Bre said, grinning. “I forced it out of him a couple weeks ago when I caught him smiling at his phone like an idiot.”

Alex snorted. “Let me guess. He didn’t tell you we were flying in?”

You shook your head. “He, um...didn’t really get the chance. He’s—he’s actually really sick. The team doctors just left. That’s...kind of why I look like a raccoon who lost custody of her kids.”

Brian frowned instantly. “He’s sick? When did this happen? I talked to him last night and he seemed fine.”

“It started early this morning. He woke up feeling awful and he’s been completely out of it since. He couldn’t keep anything down. He’s upstairs resting now. They gave him an IV.”

Ema’s hand flew to her mouth. “Dios mío. My baby.” And without waiting another second, she turned and made a beeline for the stairs.

“Wait, so let me get this straight,” Bre said, blinking. “Auston—my brother, Auston—threw up. In front of you. And let you take care of him?”

You gave a half-smile. “He didn’t exactly have a choice. He was on the bathroom floor clinging to life. I thought he was gonna pass out cold.”

Alex looked vaguely impressed. “Wow. He must really like you.”

“I think he just physically couldn’t argue.”

“Oh my God,” you said suddenly, cheeks flushing. “I didn’t even offer—do you guys want water or coffee or anything? Help with your bags?”

“No, you’re good,” Bre said, already dropping her purse and sitting on the couch like this was a regular Tuesday. “But we do have a few questions for you.”

Brian sighed like a man who’d done this song and dance before, taking his and Ema’s bags to one of the guest rooms without another word.

Meanwhile upstairs, Ema stepped into the master bedroom and nearly staggered at the sight.

Her son—her baby boy—was curled under a blanket, IV in his arm, lips cracked and colorless, cheeks flushed with fever. He looked ten years younger and ten pounds lighter. She moved quietly across the room, hand to her chest, tears threatening.

She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his damp curls back from his forehead.

“No hockey,” she whispered softly, fiercely. “No games. No cameras. Just rest. You get better, okay? That’s the only thing I care about.”

Alex and Bre settle on opposite ends of the sofa, coffee mugs in hand, eyes flicking over you like customs agents. They’re polite—smiles and thank-yous—but every question has a security-checkpoint edge. And you really couldn't afford to be put on their No Fly list.

Bre starts her expert questioning, “so… what do you do when you’re not reviving my brother from the dead?”

“I'm a Global Wealth Management Specialist at Scotiabank.” And currently an unlicensed ICU nurse, you almost add.

Alex speaks up next. “And you two met… ?”

“At a charity gala in October. If he’d felt human this morning, he’d have warned me you were coming. Believe me, I’d have surrendered the hoodie and staged a hair intervention.”

Both sisters laugh but the appraisal lingers—part protectiveness, part hope.

Before the next interrogation round, the front door bangs open and Judd strides in, half-jogging up the stairs. Twenty minutes later he trudges back with Ema, looking as if someone replaced his blood with cold coffee.

Judd sinks down onto the loveseat, “he’s a statue. The man hates sitting still and hasn’t even twitched.”

“Doctors think it’s really bad food poisoning, maybe viral," you inform him. "They’ll said they'll reassess this afternoon.”

Ema’s eyes sheen. Brian’s palm lands gently on her shoulder. She snaps into mom mode.

“I need tortilla-soup ingredients, oatmeal, Sprite, ginger…Chris just got here—I’ll text him a list.”

Kitchen drawers bang, phones beep. Brian and Judd start muttering about ‘contingency plans’—code for what the hell do we do if he can’t skate tomorrow? Bre and Alex retreat to grab a nap. You finally steal five minutes, gather a change of clothes from the master closet, and slip into the guest bath. The hot water drums your back, drowning out the clatter of voices downstairs.

Auston surfaces from fever-dream sludge, every muscle aching like he played three overtimes in full gear. His eyes track an unfamiliar tube taped to his forearm. IV. Throbbing headache. Lips cracked.

Phone. 10:04 a.m. Training-staff text: REST. NO RINK.

Another from Dad two hours ago: Landing soon.

They were here. His family. They were in this house. And you—his girlfriend of four months—had met them without him even getting a warning out. No prep. No soft launch. No time to be your buffer, your protection. No time to clean the puke off his hoodie or the fear out of your eyes.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, attempting to sit up. His muscles screamed. Felix moved from the foot of the bed and curled close under his arm like he knew his dad was unraveling.

Auston dropped his head back against the pillows.

“It’s gonna be a long day, Snuff,” he mumbled, gently stroking the dog’s fur.

Just then, his door creaked open.

His mom slipped in like she always did when he was sick—soundless and soft, already reading him before he could speak. He felt like he was five again.

“Auston,” she breathed, clearly relieved to see his eyes open. “It’s good to see you up a little, papi. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a Cybertruck,” he muttered, his voice dry and frayed. “Glad you guys made it though. Um…” He swallowed. “Where is she?”

Ema raised an eyebrow. “She?”

“Mom,” he said, almost groaning. “Where’s Y/N?”

Understanding dawned on her face.

"She’s fine," Ema said, her voice easing into gentleness. "She's showering off whatever germs you tried to gift her. We like her, by the way. She’s been a warrior all night.”

“Did I scare her off?” His voice cracks.

Ema smiles, settling into the little bit of room Felix left on the other side of Auston. “No. If anything, she’s more worried about you than hockey, and that tells me plenty.”

Auston sags back, relief and fever combining in a light-headed swirl. “So…you met her.”

“I did,” she replied, walking toward him to check his forehead again. “And she’s still here, so clearly we didn’t scare her off.”

“I didn’t tell her you were coming,” he said, eyes drifting closed again for a second. “I forgot. I didn’t warn her. She met everyone and I wasn’t even there to—”

“Auston.”

He blinked open at the tone in her voice.

“She handled it. She’s kind. Smart. We like her,” Ema said simply. “She’s been up all night taking care of you, by the way. She looked half-dead herself when we walked in, but still stood at the door and let us in like she was the hostess and not your fevered nurse.”

He winced, pressing a hand to his eyes. “God, I hate that. I didn’t want her to have to deal with any of this. I didn’t even… we didn’t even talk about meeting families yet.”

“I figured,” Ema said, pulling his blanket up over his shoulder. “But life happens. And sometimes, it throws up all over your plans. Literally, in your case.”

He laughed weakly, coughing halfway through. “Mom…”

She kissed his forehead again, warm and grounding. “You need to rest. I’m making your favorite soup, the team doctors are coming back this afternoon to reassess, and once she’s out of the shower, I’ll tell her you’re asking for her.”

He nodded, eyes already sliding shut again.

“…Tell her I’m sorry,” he murmured, “that she had to meet the circus without the ringmaster.”

Ema smiled, smoothing back his damp curls.

“She’ll hear it from you soon, mijo. And don’t worry. I think she likes the circus.”

She left quietly, heart clenched and full at the same time.

Outside the bedroom, she found you barefoot in the hallway, towel slung over your shoulders, hair damp.

“He’s awake,” she said softly. “And asking for you.”

Your lips parted. “Really?”

Ema smiled. “Go on, mija. He needs you.”

You stepped past her, breath catching in your chest.

Whatever this was—messy, unplanned, sickly and chaotic—it was also very real. And in that moment, as you reached for the doorknob, you were more sure than ever: you weren’t going anywhere.

You push open the door softly, just enough to peek in.

"Aus?"

He's propped against a few pillows, eyes open and hazy, hand resting protectively over his stomach like it’s a wound. His face is pale, lips cracked, and a thin sheen of sweat still clings to his temple. But he manages a small smile when he sees you.

“Hey,” he says hoarsely. “Come here.”

You don’t hesitate, crossing the room so fast Felix lets out a grunt and scrambles off Auston’s lap, hopping to the far side of the bed like he needs quiet but still refuses to leave his side.

You sit gently on the edge beside him. “You’re awake. How are you feeling, patient zero?”

“Very funny,” he rasps, voice still dry but amused. “I feel…better, honestly.”

You narrow your eyes, not buying it for a second.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters. “I do. And I’m playing tomorrow.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I'm shocked.”

He leans his head back against the pillow, wincing slightly, hand still rubbing light, unconscious circles over his abdomen. “Let’s talk about the real emergency, my family. First of all, I’m so—”

“If you’re about to apologize for getting violently ill and forgetting to mention that your parents and sisters were flying in, please don’t.” You shake your head gently. “Seriously. It’s fine.”

He looks at you with a soft guilt behind his eyes.

“They’re great,” you continue. “They’re sweet, and they absolutely adore you. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“I know, but still…” he exhales shakily. “I should’ve been there. You met my entire family in a ratty hoodie with puke on it and no warning. I should’ve helped make it less scary. And instead, I was in a full-blown fever coma while you played hostess and nurse.”

“Baby,” you say gently, placing your hand over his on the blanket. “This wasn’t exactly something you could plan for. It’s fine. You’re good. You’re here. I just want you to get better. Preferably soon, because I’m pretty sure Judd is five seconds away from crying.”

Auston lets out a weak laugh and immediately presses his hand firmer to his stomach. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure he and my dad are downstairs right now crafting about eight contingency plans.”

“That’s actually exactly what they’re doing.”

He closes his eyes and smiles. “Of course they are.”

You let yourself lean into him slightly, forehead just brushing his shoulder.

The two of you sit there in silence for a beat. Then Auston’s face twitches. His nose scrunches.

“…Wait. Do you smell that?”

You lift your head. “The soup?”

His entire face goes slack with dread.

“Oh no,” he whispers, eyes suddenly wild. “That’s my mom’s chicken tortilla soup. I can smell the lime and cilantro—”

He lunges weakly forward, grabbing the trash can from the floor and dragging it close just in time. His whole body curls as he vomits again, nothing but bile this time, and your hand immediately finds his back, rubbing slow, gentle circles over his shoulder blades.

You whisper something soothing, but he can’t really hear it.

Auston’s breathing is shallow, head tipped back against the pillow, eyes half-shut. You’re about to wipe his mouth again when he croaks out—

“Can you…grab the mouthwash?” His voice is strained, almost pleading. “I’m gonna puke and I can’t deal with the taste.”

You nod immediately, hopping up to grab the travel-size bottle from the bathroom. By the time you’re back, he’s already gripping the trash can again with both hands, knuckles white, swaying slightly like he’s trying to out-stare the wave coming for him.

You kneel beside him, unscrewing the cap as fast as you can, but it’s too late—his whole body tenses, and he heaves again into the bin. It’s dry, painful, and drawn-out.

Downstairs, you can hear the shift in the house like a needle dropping on a record. Bre’s voice from the hallway: “Is that him again?”

Judd’s already halfway to the stairs. “Shit.”

In the kitchen, Ema freezes with a spoon in hand. The pot on the stove simmers behind her, untouched.

Brian closes the fridge slowly. “That sounded bad.”

Alex appears in the doorway to the kitchen, lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s still throwing up?”

“He couldn’t even smell the soup,” Judd mutters grimly walking back down, grimly looking toward Ema. “As soon as it hit the air, he lost it.”

Ema puts the spoon down like it weighs a hundred pounds. “I didn’t think—he always wants that when he’s sick. That’s his comfort food.”

“I know,” Judd says gently. “But his stomach isn’t ready. None of him is.”

Ema brushes at her cheek with the back of her hand. “I feel helpless.”

Bre leans against the wall, arms folded but face softening. “I hate this. I hate hearing him like that. It sounds like it hurts.”

Alex nods, trying not to tear up herself. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this sick.”

Judd looks toward the stairs. “She’s been up there with him nonstop. She hasn’t even eaten.”

Ema turns, wiping her hands on a dishtowel with sudden urgency. “I’m taking it off the stove. Maybe he’ll handle crackers later. I can make some tea instead. Something gentle.”

Brian squeezes her shoulder. “That’s good. That’s what he needs.”

Back upstairs, Auston finally slumps back against the pillows, eyes glassy and skin gray. You hand him a wet cloth and he presses it over his eyes, completely spent.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, voice wrecked. “I’m sorry. Again.”

“Stop apologizing,” you whisper, placing the mouthwash next to the bed, though he doesn’t have the energy to use it yet.

You stroke his hair back from his forehead and glance toward the door, already hearing the cautious footsteps of someone heading up to check on him again.

“Do you want me to tell them you’re okay?”

He shakes his head weakly, eyes still closed. “No. Just…just tell them not to make any more soup.”

The consensus, unanimously, is that Auston needs to sleep.

He’s still curled up on his side, one hand resting over his stomach like a weight he can’t put down, eyelids heavy and glassy. You’re half-sitting, half-leaning against the headboard, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“Why don’t you nap, mijo?” Ema says softly from the doorway, arms crossed over her chest like she’s trying not to physically hold him from afar. “Your body needs rest.”

“I’ve been sleeping all day,” he mumbles, though he’s clearly fading again. “It’s boring.”

“You threw up soup smell, I think your entertainment privileges are revoked,” you murmur.

That gets a faint huff of a laugh, but he doesn’t argue again. A few minutes later, he’s out. Not just lightly dozing—fully, deeply asleep, breathing even, chest rising in slow, heavy intervals like his body has finally given in.

When the medical staff returns a few hours later, they’re more serious this time. They adjust his IV, add another bag of fluids and administer a low-dose antibiotic to jumpstart recovery in case it isn’t just food poisoning. They check his vitals, talk quietly to you and Ema while he sleeps, and promise they’ll be back in the morning to reassess.

He stirs as they leave, blinking sluggishly at you. “I’m not throwing up.”

“You’re not,” you say gently. “That’s a win.”

His stomach rumbles, just loud enough to make Ema perk up with too much hope.

“Wait—do you think you could eat something?” she asks.

“Maybe.” He shifts upright slowly. “Something easy.”

You fetch him a small bowl of oatmeal while Judd cracks open a sleeve of saltines like it’s treasure. Auston manages to eat a few spoonfuls, sipping at water in between bites. When he swallows his last cracker without flinching, Ema nearly bursts into tears.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, hand covering her mouth.

You catch her expression—her whole body trembling with relief—and without saying anything, you shift on the bed and pat the spot beside her son.

“Here. You take over,” you whisper. “You’ll sleep better near him anyway.”

Ema doesn’t hesitate. She crawls in, careful not to disturb Auston too much, and immediately rests her hand on his back, rubbing slow circles just like you had earlier. Felix shifts to lie at the foot of the bed, quiet and unbothered, the perfect nurse.

You stand, brushing your hands off on your leggings, and lean over to kiss Auston’s forehead. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything, okay?”

“Mm,” he hums, barely conscious, already halfway back to sleep. “Thanks.”

The house stays quiet that night, but no one truly rests.

Brian is in one of the guest rooms, seated in a chair with the lights dimmed. He’s dozing in and out, arms crossed, brow furrowed deep with worry. He knows Auston won’t sit this game out without a fight, and the idea of him playing through illness makes his stomach churn.

Bre and Alex are in the other guest room, whispering before falling asleep. Neither one wants to admit how scared they were seeing their brother like that—pale, limp, quiet. He was always the strong one. They don’t know how to help, so they do the only thing they can. They sleep. They’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow.

Downstairs, you’re on one couch, curled under a throw blanket with your phone face-down beside you. Judd is across from you, hands behind his head, legs dangling over the arm of the sofa. Neither of you says much before sleep wins.

“You good?” he asks, just once.

You nod. “We’re getting there.”

Judd closes his eyes. “It’s gonna be a hell of a couple days.”

In the master bedroom, Ema doesn’t sleep.

She stays tucked beside her son, smoothing his hair every so often, watching his breathing, wiping the sweat from his brow when it resurfaces. Felix sleeps with his chin on Auston’s shin like a little guardian. Ema whispers prayers in Spanish that she used to say when he was a baby. He doesn’t stir. Doesn’t vomit. Just sleeps.

When morning comes, Auston wakes with a bit more color in his cheeks, a little less weight in his eyes. He sits up carefully, stretches, feels the IV port still taped to his skin, and groans.

Ema jolts. “¿Todo bien?”

He nods. “Better.”

She doesn’t cry again, but she comes close.

“I think I can go in,” he says, already reaching for his phone. “Just drive there. Slow. Take it easy.”

“You sure?” she asks, hopeful but hesitant.

“I need to move,” he says. “Game three’s tonight. I’ve got time.”

Ema watches him get up and head to the bathroom, steady but still a little fragile.

She doesn't stop him. She just whispers a thank you to no one in particular.

Auston miraculously makes it through morning skate. He looks pale and gaunt in the locker room, tugging on his gear with slow, deliberate movements, but he doesn’t complain. He takes his usual pregame nap—it lasts longer than normal, nearly two and a half hours—but no one says anything. Not because it isn’t noticeable, but because they’re all too afraid of what it might mean if they do.

Nothing about this gameday goes according to routine. First, there's too may people around, watching him like he's a ticking time bomb. Second, he’s quiet. Too quiet. No chirping, no pregame playlist, no nervous jokes to loosen the mood. Just a heavy, unsettling silence. He’s dressed and ready to head out, suit hanging off his frame a little looser than usual, eyes sunken and complexion dull.

"I'm going to be fine," he says, preemptively, catching the stares. “This is the playoffs. Nobody’s playing at 100% right now.”

"Nobody’s playing at less than 40% either," Alex mutters under his breath, crossing her arms. “Just—be careful. If you aren’t feeling well, don’t push yourself too hard. It’s a long series.”

He nods, offering hugs and quiet see-you-laters. You don’t say anything when it’s your turn—just wrap your arms around him and hold on a little longer, resting your head against his chest. You feel how warm he still is, how shallowly he’s breathing. You don’t want to say don’t play. You know he wouldn’t listen. So you hope the hug says it all.

23 minutes and 16 seconds.

That’s how long he plays.

You have no idea how he made it through the entire game, and neither does his family. Ema and Brian look physically ill through most of it—hands clenched, eyes wide, shoulders taut with tension. Bre and Alex don’t speak during the third period. Judd is glued to the railing in the box, jaw locked, watching Auston like he’s waiting for him to keel over on the ice.

After the final whistle, it takes over an hour for Auston to come out of the locker room.

The players who’ve done interviews are already trickling past the tunnel where you’re all waiting. You try not to look as worried as you feel, but it’s getting harder with each passing minute.

“Can you…” you murmur, glancing at Judd, “…maybe see what’s happening? He’s been in there for a while.”

Judd doesn’t argue. He gets on the phone immediately, pacing and whispering, hand braced on his hip like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. You hate that you’re trying to read his face, but the more he nods, the more your heart drops.

He hangs up and sighs, running a hand down his face.

“He’s getting another IV. He was super dehydrated. Almost passed out in the locker room. They’ve got him in the trainer’s room right now getting fluids. Should be out in 10 or 15.”

No one says anything. Not for a long time.

When Auston finally appears, he looks… wrecked.

He didn’t bother putting his suit back on. He’s wearing team-issued grey sweats and a hoodie, hood pulled up despite the sweat beading at his temple. His face is ashen. There are faint tremors in his hands, one of which is pressed to his stomach like he’s trying to keep it from caving in. His gait is sluggish, unsteady. Like he’s walking underwater.

You rush to him the second you see him, hands reaching for his elbow instinctively. He gives you a weak, apologetic smile and silently presses his car keys into your palm.

“Can you drive?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I really don’t think I should be behind the wheel right now.”

“Of course,” you murmur, cupping his jaw for a moment. “You ready to go?”

He swallows hard, nodding once. “Yeah. Just… slow, please.”

In the car, he reclines the seat back the second he’s in, tugging his hoodie tighter around himself. He flips on the AC and angles all the vents toward his face. His breathing is shallow, every exhale an effort. You keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, gently rubbing circles.

“You okay?”

“I’m good,” he says, but the sound he makes a second later—a faint groan as he shifts in the seat—betrays him.

Five minutes from his building, he suddenly sits up. “I need you to pull over. Now. Please.”

You swerve to the shoulder just in time. His door flies open and he’s bent double, vomiting violently onto the side of the road. You reach out instinctively, but wait until he’s done before resting a hand on his back.

“Jesus,” he mutters, wiping his mouth. “Okay. Okay, I’m good.”

You don’t believe him, but you nod. “Let’s get you home.”

By the time you get to the condo, it’s all hands on deck.

You’re half-carrying your 6'3" boyfriend from the car to the elevator, and once you’re upstairs, Brian and Judd are waiting. They each take an arm, helping him up the stairs to his room. Auston doesn't speak. Doesn’t even take his shoes off. He collapses face-first onto the bed and passes out instantly, hoodie still clinging to his sweat-damp skin.

You let him sleep. He needs it.

Judd and Brian spend the next hour on the phone with the team doctors, weighing options, asking pointed questions about whether this is sustainable—whether they should consider pulling him from the lineup. Ema sits at the edge of the bed, brushing the hair off Auston’s forehead, tears in her eyes. Her son just gave everything he had, and it's not enough. Not if this is what it costs.

Bre and Alex peek into the room, exchange a worried glance, and silently retreat. They’ve seen Auston exhausted before. But not like this.

You stay close, watching the rise and fall of his back, and wonder how much longer he can keep doing this—how much more his body can take before it forces him to stop.

He wakes up just past midnight.

Not gradually. Not groggy.

Suddenly and completely awake, blinking up at the ceiling like he has no idea where he is. His skin is no longer ghost-white. The pounding in his skull is gone. His stomach is calm. He’s…sweaty, yes. But otherwise?

He feels almost human.

He slowly pushes himself up and glances at the clock. 12:17 a.m. He shifts and hears a soft voice.

“You’re up,” you say quietly, sitting forward in the chair.

Auston turns toward her, surprised. “You stayed?”

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone like that.”

He swings his legs off the side of the bed and gives you a long look. “You’re too good to me.”

You smile, small and tired. “You were really sick, Auston.”

“Still don't feel 100% back.”

“But…?”

He stretches a little. “But I don’t think I’m dying anymore.”

You laugh under your breath. “Progress.”

He stands slowly, testing his legs. “Gonna shower. I smell like the flu.”

You walk out to the kitchen, where Auston’s mom is stirring a mug of tea.

“How is he?” Ema asks.

“Awake,” You reply. “Wants a shower.”

Ema doesn’t even pause. “Go in there with him.”

You blink. Bre snorts and Alex elbows her. “Sorry—what?”

“Just to make sure he doesn’t pass out and crack his head open,” Ema says calmly, sipping. “He lost a lot of fluid. And that boy’s stubborn. He’ll say he’s fine and then he'll slip and crack his head open.”

You hesitate. “Wouldn’t he—like—want you?”

Ema smirks, giving you a look. “For some reason, I highly doubt that. You should probably go.”

You knock on the bathroom door. “Auston?”

“Yeah?” he calls back, water running.

“Your mom’s making me come in and make sure you don’t pass out in here.”

He's quiet for a moment, letting the warm water continuously run over him. Then, “sure she is. You just wanna see me naked.”

You push the door open and shut it behind you. “Trust me, Matthews, I’ve never seen so much vomit come out of one human being in my entire life. Sex is the very last thing on my mind.”

There’s a pause. Then a raspy laugh from behind the frosted glass. “God, don’t remind me.”

“You projectile vomited on the side of the road. I will never forget that.”

He laughs again, then groans. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’re thoroughly turned off.”

“Yup. You’re officially on a very unsexy probation.”

You sit on the closed toilet lid, arms crossed, listening as he soaps up. He’s slow about it, and you doesn’t blame him. You can see the outline of his large frame behind the fogged glass, the slight wobble in his movements.

“You okay?” you ask after a moment.

“I think so,” he says. Then quieter: “Thanks for taking care of me.”

You smile to herself. “Anytime, Aus.”

There’s another pause before he speaks again. “You know, you could join me in here. For safety reasons.”

You snort. “You’re lucky I’m even in the same room after watching you puke a piece of your soul."

He laughs softly, “still worth asking.”

You shakes your head, smiling despite yourself, and get up to grab a clean towel.

The sun filters through the bedroom curtains just enough to make the room feel gently lit, the kind of soft, quiet morning light that doesn’t demand anything from you. Auston stirs first. His body feels… normal. He blinks up at the ceiling, surprised by how much better he feels—like he’s been pulled back from the edge.

The chills are gone. The tight grip around his ribs has loosened. His stomach has settled into silence. He’s still tired, sure, but not sick anymore.

He turns his head slowly and sees you curled on your side facing him, one hand tucked under your cheek, the other still resting gently on his arm like you never stopped making sure he was breathing.

God, he loved you.

He watches you for a moment. The tangled mess of your hair, the dried salt of worry still dusting your lashes. You're wearing his hoodie—still. It dwarfs you, but he loves that you haven't taken it off.

Without thinking, he reaches out and runs his fingers along the curve of your cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You stirs slightly, then blink up at him, bleary and beautiful in that real, undone way that makes his chest ache.

“Hey,” you whisper, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Hey,” he says back, softer. “You stayed.”

Your mouth curves into a sleepy smirk. “Didn’t think you could survive another six hours without adult supervision.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Fair.”

Just outside the cracked bedroom door, Ema Matthews is halfway up the stairs with a fresh towel and a cup of ginger tea in her hands. She pauses when she hears voices—he’s awake. She steps silently back, giving them privacy. Listening for just a second more, her heart aching in the best way.

Inside, Auston shifts so he’s lying on his side, facing you. “What… day is it?”

“Thursday,” you murmur, stretching slightly, your voice warming. “You’ve been pretty out of it since Monday night.”

“Feels like I missed a month.”

You grin, brushing your nose against his arm as he snuggles closer beneath the covers. “You didn’t miss much. Just that my boyfriend was violently puking enough to fill a couple bathtubs, I met his parents while smelling like his vomit and wearing the same hoodie three days in a row, and I’m pretty sure I’m best friends with Judd now.”

Auston lets out a low, scratchy laugh, the sound hoarse but warm. His eyes crinkle, still glassy with exhaustion but glowing just a little brighter than before. “Oh yeah?”

“Yup.” You shift to face him, curling slightly into his side. “He doesn’t think I’m a blood-sucking gold digger anymore. I think I finally won him over.”

He chuckles again and lets his head fall onto your shoulder, cheek resting there like it’s the only place in the world he wants to be. The laugh vibrates softly against your skin. “Sounds like you weren’t busy at all.”

“Not really,” you murmur, wrapping an arm around him without thinking. Your hand rubs gentle, absent circles across his back, feeling the faint tremor in his muscles and the heat still clinging to his skin.

He goes quiet for a beat, like he’s trying to find the right words—or maybe bracing himself for them.

Then, slowly, Auston lifts his head and looks at you. His eyes, even tired, are steady and full of something heavier than gratitude.

“Thank you.”

You blink, confused for a moment. “For what?”

“For staying,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “For dealing with all the chaos. For taking care of me. For…not running away when I couldn’t even stand up without help.”

Your heart clenches. You cup the side of his face, brushing your thumb along the rough edge of his jaw. “You’d do it for me.”

“Still.” His throat bobs. “You didn’t have to. And you did. You didn’t even hesitate.”

The intensity in his gaze knocks the wind out of you. It’s not polished or pretty, it’s not the effortless charm he wears on game days. This is Auston raw—sick, worn down, scared—and still trying to love you the best way he can.

You nod, and without another word, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s slow, gentle—hesitant at first, like he’s afraid he might break something if he pushes too hard. The kind of kiss that says I missed this even though it’s only been a few days. The kind that lingers. No urgency. No need to rush. Just him, and you, and the quiet acknowledgment that this means something more.

When he finally pulls back, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in.

“I don’t feel like I'm dying anymore,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

You smile. “Well, your breath is slightly better,” you tease, brushing your nose against his. “So I believe it.”

He groans and drops his face into the curve of your neck, lips barely brushing your collarbone. “I knew I should’ve brushed my teeth first.”

“Too late now,” you whisper, fingers threading into his hair. “I’m already exposed to every bodily fluid you’ve got.”

That earns you a weak laugh, muffled against your skin. He pulls you closer, like he still can’t believe you’re here.

And then it happens.

The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them—soft and unsure but impossibly real.

“I love you.”

You freeze. Just for a second. Your heart skids in your chest, but not from fear.

You pull back just enough to see his face. He looks terrified. Like he said it without meaning to. Like it slipped past the defenses he’s spent years building.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t run.

You lean in, smiling gently.

“I love you too.”

Relief crashes over his features—messy and immediate and so full of emotion that you feel your own eyes sting. He kisses you again, quicker this time, smiling against your mouth like he can’t believe this is real.

“Say it again,” you whisper. “Please.”

His thumb strokes along your cheek as he looks at you like you hung the moon. “I love you.”

You grin, cheeks flushed. “Again.”

He laughs, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you. I'll say it all day if you want me to."

Outside the bedroom door, Ema presses her hand to her heart, a tear slipping down her cheek as she listens.

Her son is going to be okay.

And better than that—he’s found someone who will love him through the sickness, through the sweat, through the chaos and the ugly, and not once ask for anything in return.

She tiptoes away, the smile on her face soft and certain.

272 notes · View notes

trashforbarzal · 16 days ago

Text

FALLING INTO PLACE LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: You’ve always been best friends with Jack, but it’s his quieter, more patient brother Luke who’s been there all along. As you grow older, the bond between you and Luke transforms into something deeper, forcing you to finally see him in a new light.

Warnings :: reader is blind to love, small age gap (reader is the same age as Jack), unrequited love (+ a small amount of heartbreak), angst with eventual fluff, childhood friends(ish) to lovers, kissing, mini arguments, brief description of minor injuries, pining

Word count :: 22.3k

The Hughes family had always been a part of your life.

From the moment you were born, they were there—just next door, just across the lawn, just within reach. Your parents had moved into the neighborhood the same year you and Jack were born, and from the time you were old enough to crawl, your lives had been tangled together like the overgrown vines on the fences separating your yards.

There was never a time when Jack Hughes wasn’t in your world. He was there for every scraped knee, every birthday candle, every summer afternoon spent chasing fireflies. The moment you took your first wobbly steps, Jack had been beside you, already running, already pulling you along with that infectious, boundless energy of his. He wasn’t just your neighbor; he was your person.

It was inevitable, really. Your parents had been close from the start, the kind of friendship that formed effortlessly when two young families found themselves living side by side, both navigating sleepless nights with newborns. Your mothers had bonded over shared exhaustion—late-night feedings, first words, first steps—and before long, you and Jack had become an extension of that bond.

He was the first friend you ever made. And for the longest time, he was the only one that mattered.

Your days had a rhythm, an unspoken routine that started long before either of you were old enough to understand what routine even meant.

Every morning—without fail—there was a knock on your bedroom window. Not a polite tap, not a soft greeting, but a loud, impatient thud thud thud that had your parents groaning in the next room, already knowing exactly who it was.

“Jack, sweetheart, use the front door like a normal person,” your mother had called out once, exasperated.

“But it’s faster this way!” Jack had shot back, as if that explained everything.

And so, every morning, you would shuffle to the window, still half-asleep, and push it open. Jack’s face—grinning, eager, already bursting with energy—would be waiting for you.

“Come on,” he’d say, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’re racing bikes today.” Or “Quinn says we can use his hockey net!” Or “Mom made waffles. You have to come over.”

It didn’t matter what the plan was. You always went. Because Jack always made everything sound like the most exciting thing in the world.

Some mornings, he barely gave you time to get dressed before dragging you outside. There were days when you stumbled out of your house still in your pajamas, only half-awake, your hair a tangled mess, while Jack was already running down the driveway, laughing over his shoulder, challenging you to catch up.

Other days, he climbed right into your room through the window, ignoring every possible protest, flopping onto your bed as if it was his own, acting like there was nothing unusual about breaking into his best friend’s house before 8 AM.

“Jack, you can’t just—”

“Hurry up, Y/N!” he’d groan dramatically, burying his face in your pillow. “We’re wasting daylight!”

You had long since stopped trying to argue with him.

The Hughes’ house wasn’t just Jack’s home—it was yours, too. It had been for as long as you could remember.

You knew that house like the back of your hand. You knew exactly which steps on the staircase creaked the loudest—the third from the bottom and the second from the top—making it impossible to sneak around undetected. You knew where Ellen kept the extra blankets in the hall closet, the ones you always pulled out when you inevitably fell asleep on their couch after a long day of playing outside. You knew that Jim liked his coffee strong and black, and that Jack—despite his endless energy—could never function properly before noon without something sweet to eat.

Their fridge might as well have been yours. You never thought twice about opening it and grabbing a snack, just as Jack never hesitated to raid your pantry for whatever chips or cookies your mom had bought that week. If the Hughes were ordering pizza, there was always an unspoken assumption that you were staying for dinner.

There were no formalities in their home. No knocking on doors, no need for permission. You walked in and out as freely as if it was your own house.

Ellen treated you like one of her own, scolding you and Jack equally when you got into trouble (which was often). Quinn, the responsible older brother, always made sure you were safe, always keeping an eye on you when Jack got too carried away. And Luke… well, Luke had always been there, too.

The Hughes house was warmth and laughter, noise and chaos. It was yelling over video games in the basement, the sound of skates scraping against the driveway, the echo of Jack’s voice calling your name as he ran up to your door, never bothering to knock before barging in.

It was home.

You fit there. As if you had always belonged.

But Jack wasn’t the only Hughes brother in your life.

From the very beginning, Quinn had taken on the role of your unofficial older brother.

He was only a few years older than you and Jack, but at that age, those few years felt like a lifetime. He was bigger, stronger, wiser, as you and Jack had once believed. In a world where Jack was all reckless enthusiasm and boundless energy, Quinn was the counterbalance—the quiet, steady presence who made sure neither of you got into too much trouble.

It wasn’t that Quinn didn’t join in on the chaos—he did, when it suited him—but he was always the one who knew better. The one who thought things through. And, more often than not, the one who had to clean up whatever mess you and Jack inevitably got yourselves into.

If Jack came up with a stupid idea, it was Quinn who sighed, crossed his arms, and shook his head.

“You’re going to break something.”

“No, we’re not!” Jack would insist, already halfway through convincing you to do whatever dangerous, poorly thought-out scheme he had concocted that day.

Quinn would roll his eyes, mumbling something about how he was too young to be dealing with this, but he never truly left you to your own devices. Because when—not if, but when—Jack’s plan went sideways, Quinn was always the one to step in and make sure neither of you got too hurt.

When you were five, Jack decided he was going to make you a hockey player.

It was a rainy afternoon, and the three of you were stuck inside, boredom settling in like an itch that neither you nor Jack could stand for long. You had spent the last hour sitting in the Hughes’ living room, fidgeting, when Jack suddenly bolted upright, eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Let’s play mini sticks!” he had declared, already sprinting toward the basement.

You had barely even known what mini sticks were at the time, but you followed anyway, because that was just how things worked—Jack decided something, and you went along with it.

The moment you got downstairs, Jack shoved a tiny plastic stick into your hands and pointed at the net they had set up against the far wall.

“Okay, you have to score on me,” he said, crouching down in front of the goal, holding a goalie stick that was nearly as big as he was.

You looked down at the mini stick, then back at Jack.

“How?”

Jack groaned dramatically, as if your question physically pained him.

“Just hit the ball into the net! It’s not that hard!”

But it was hard. You didn’t know how to hold the stick properly, didn’t know how to control the ball, and every time you tried to take a shot, it rolled harmlessly to Jack’s feet.

Jack, to his credit, lasted all of three minutes before he got frustrated.

“No, no, no!” he huffed, marching over to you. “You’re doing it all wrong!”

“Well, I don’t know how to do it right!” you shot back, annoyed.

Jack groaned again, clearly ready to give up, but before he could, another voice chimed in.

“Here—like this.”

You looked up to see Quinn kneeling beside you, his own mini stick in hand. Unlike Jack, he was patient. He adjusted your grip, gently moving your hands into the right position. He showed you how to angle your stick, how to follow through on a shot.

“It’s all about control,” he explained, demonstrating with an easy flick of his wrist. The ball soared cleanly into the top corner of the net.

Your eyes widened. That was how you were supposed to do it?

“Try again,” Quinn encouraged, nudging the ball toward you.

You did. And this time, the shot actually had some power behind it. Not much—but enough.

Quinn smiled.

Jack groaned.

“Okay, fine, she’s kinda good,” Jack admitted.

But even after that, whenever you struggled with something—hockey or otherwise—it was always Quinn you turned to. Because where Jack would get frustrated and impatient, Quinn would always take the time to help.

Jack’s impulsive nature meant that you got into a lot of trouble growing up.

One summer, when you were seven, Jack had come up with what he insisted was a foolproof plan—jumping off the swing at its highest point to see who could land the farthest.

“It’s so easy,” Jack had said, already climbing onto the seat. “You just have to time it right.”

You had been hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Quinn, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, had sighed heavily.

“You’re going to break your arm, idiot.”

Jack ignored him.

And, predictably, about five seconds later, Jack launched himself off the swing, flailed wildly in the air, and landed in an ungraceful heap on the grass.

To his credit, he hadn’t broken his arm. But he had managed to knock the wind out of himself so badly that he lay there gasping like a fish while Quinn stood over him, unimpressed.

“I told you,” Quinn muttered, before turning to you. “Do not listen to him.”

You listened. Mostly.

But there were still plenty of times when Jack managed to drag you into his ridiculous plans. And, inevitably, there were times when you got hurt.

There had been one particular summer afternoon when Jack had dared you to race him down the street on your bikes.

“I bet I can beat you by so much,” he had taunted, grinning as he climbed onto his bike.

“You wish,” you had shot back, determined to win.

The race had started off fine—pedaling furiously, wind rushing past your face, Jack laughing beside you—but then you hit a pothole.

The bike jolted violently. You lost control.

And the next thing you knew, you were flying over the handlebars.

Pain exploded across your knees and palms as you skidded across the pavement, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Jack had screeched to a stop, his face a mask of horror.

“Oh my God. Oh my God—are you okay?!”

Your knees were scraped raw, blood trickling down your shins, and your palms stung so badly you thought they might be on fire. You wanted to be tough, wanted to brush it off, but your throat was tight, and tears were already pricking at your eyes.

And then, before you even had time to process what had happened, Quinn was there.

“Jesus, you guys,” he muttered, crouching beside you.

You sniffled, still trying to hold back tears, but Quinn didn’t make a big deal about it. He just scooped you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, and started walking you home.

“You’re okay,” he said, voice calm and steady. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”

Jack trailed behind, looking guilty as hell.

“I—I didn’t think she’d actually fall,” he mumbled.

Quinn shot him a look.

“Of course she fell, Jack. You two don’t think before you do anything.”

Jack had no argument for that.

But even as Quinn sighed, even as he grumbled about “having to babysit two disasters,” you knew he cared.

Because Quinn never let anything happen to you.

And he never would.

Then there was Luke.

Luke had been there from the almost start, having arrived two years late to the world you and Jack had already built together.

It wasn’t that he was unwelcome—not at all. But in the early years, he had been younger—just enough behind you and Jack that the gap felt significant. When you were five, he was three. When you and Jack were racing bikes down the street, Luke was still on training wheels. When you were climbing trees and dangling from the highest branches, Luke was stuck at the bottom, his small hands barely able to reach the first grip.

And no matter how much he wanted to be included, the truth was, there were just some things he was too little for.

Where Jack dragged you into every wild idea that popped into his head, Luke was the one who stood on the sidelines, watching. His wide, eager eyes followed your every move, his tiny fists clenched with determination, his whole body buzzing with the desperate hope that this time—this time—you and Jack might let him in.

“Can I play?” he would ask, gripping his little hockey stick so tightly his knuckles turned white, his gaze flicking between you and Jack.

Jack, more often than not, would groan. “Luke, you’re too little.”

And because Jack was your best friend—the leader of every game, the one who decided what was and wasn’t fun—you had gone along with it.

“Maybe next time, Lukey,” you had said, ruffling his hair before turning to chase after Jack, never noticing the way Luke’s shoulders slumped as he watched you run away.

Luke always wanted to be part of your world.

But back then, you had only seen him as Jack’s little brother.

That didn’t stop Luke from following you both everywhere.

If you and Jack were playing knee hockey in the basement, Luke was there, sitting on the sidelines, cross-legged on the carpet, watching intently. If Jack scored, Luke cheered. If you fell, Luke was the one scrambling up to check if you were okay before Jack even noticed.

If you and Jack were racing across the backyard, Luke was trailing behind, his little legs working furiously to keep up, his breath coming in short, determined puffs.

“Wait for me!”

“Luke, hurry up!” Jack would yell, already halfway across the lawn.

And Luke would hurry. He always hurried, always pushed himself to the limit just to try and close the distance, just to prove that he could keep up with you and Jack.

But more often than not, by the time he caught up, the game had already changed. Jack had already moved on to something bigger, something better.

And Luke—still catching his breath, still trying to process the game that had just ended—would be left standing there, watching as you and Jack disappeared into the next adventure without him.

But Luke never left.

Even when he wasn’t included, even when Jack brushed him off or you followed Jack’s lead without a second thought, Luke stayed.

Because if he couldn’t play, then he would watch.

And when Jack inevitably got bored and abandoned a game to chase after something else—when his attention flitted from knee hockey to soccer to wrestling to something entirely new—Luke was the one who stayed behind.

If Jack left the net in the basement empty, Luke picked up a stick and asked you to shoot on him instead.

If Jack abandoned a game of tag to go inside for a snack, Luke asked you to keep playing.

He never demanded your attention the way Jack did. Never insisted that you pick him first, never threw tantrums when he was left out.

He just waited.

Waited for the moments Jack wasn’t around.

Waited for the moments you finally turned to him.

And you? You never really thought much of it.

Not then.

To you, Luke was just there.

Just part of the background of your life—always orbiting close by, always tagging along if it meant he could be newr you.

It was the summer you were seven, a time when everything still felt simple and innocent. The world was filled with endless possibilities, and your days were spent on adventures with your best friend, Jack. You both had a rhythm—an unspoken understanding that no matter what, you would always be together, running, playing, dreaming. The world had no limits when Jack was by your side. And that evening, in particular, was no different. Or so you thought.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the park, the colors in the sky blending into soft hues of orange and pink. The kind of evening that made everything look surreal, like the entire world was pausing to admire the beauty of the moment. You and Jack were sitting on your usual bench—the wooden one that creaked under the weight of years of memories, positioned perfectly to overlook the expansive field that stretched out before you. The warm summer breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and the sweet scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the distant hum of crickets chirping in the cooling air.

Jack was sitting beside you, legs dangling off the edge of the bench, his sneakers brushing against the ground as he swung his feet back and forth. He was talking, as he always did, hands gesturing wildly as he described yet another hockey game he’d watched on TV with his dad or something that had happened on the ice at practice. His voice was animated, full of the kind of energy that made it impossible not to pay attention. His dark brown eyes were wide with enthusiasm as he recounted the details—who scored the most goals, what move one of the players had pulled off, how he couldn’t wait to try it himself in his next game. It wasn’t surprising to you; hockey was everything to Jack. He lived and breathed it, and you could tell by the way he spoke, by the way his hands moved in the air to illustrate what he was saying, that this game, this sport, was a piece of his very identity.

You smiled at him, your head tilted back against the cool wood of the bench as you half-listened, half-watched the way his face lit up. Jack had always been a little bit wild in his energy. There was something so captivating about the way he threw himself into everything. Whether it was talking about hockey, creating new games to play, or just dragging you along on some new adventure, Jack’s passion was infectious.

But tonight—tonight something felt different. It wasn’t that Jack was any less enthusiastic about hockey, but there was a subtle shift in the air between the two of you. As he spoke, his words becoming more animated, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of something unfamiliar. It was a strange sensation that started somewhere in the pit of your stomach and spread out, slowly working its way into your chest. Maybe it was just the energy of the evening—the warm glow of the setting sun, the peacefulness of the park, or maybe it was something else, something you didn’t fully understand yet. But as Jack’s words flowed around you, you found yourself caught in a strange mix of emotions that you couldn’t name.

You were used to listening to him talk about hockey, about his dreams and his wild plans, but tonight, for the first time, you weren’t just hearing the words. You were feeling them.

You turned to look at him, still speaking at full speed, his words coming faster now, his enthusiasm growing with every sentence. He didn’t even notice you watching him in that way, the way you were suddenly hyper-aware of every little movement—how his hands were moving as he spoke, how the sun reflected off his hair, how his voice had a different cadence tonight, more alive, more… intimate, for lack of a better word. It wasn’t anything tangible. There was no clear reason for why it felt different, but the air between you seemed to hum with a silent understanding that had never been there before.

But then, in the midst of his animated storytelling, Jack turned to you with that familiar mischievous grin, the one that always made your heart flutter a little. You had known that grin for as long as you could remember. It was the kind of grin that meant Jack was about to do or say something unexpected, something that would probably make you laugh or roll your eyes, depending on the day. But tonight, something about it felt different.

Jack was always a whirlwind of energy, the kind of kid who could never sit still for more than five seconds. He had an incredible ability to make anything sound like the best idea in the world. And when he spoke, it was with an infectious excitement, like the entire world was waiting for him to tell it what to do. He could make even the simplest things feel like the start of some grand adventure. And, for the most part, you always followed him. He was your best friend, your partner in crime, and his ideas were always bigger than yours, always more fun.

“We should get married when we’re older,” he said, completely casually, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked, your mind briefly stalling as you processed the words. Your head turned toward him in confusion, trying to make sense of what he’d just said. You weren’t sure whether he was joking, serious, or if it was just another one of his wild ideas. It had to be a joke, right?

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, like you weren’t sure if you’d heard him correctly. You tilted your head, looking up at him with a puzzled expression.

Jack didn’t seem to notice the sudden tension in the air. He just smiled wider, clearly pleased with himself for getting your attention. His eyes sparkled as he leaned back, still sitting on the bench beside you, looking out at the sunset like it was the most natural thing in the world. He always had a way of making everything sound so simple, so easy. Like the world was just a place where everything worked out the way it was supposed to. And this—this idea—was no different.

“You can’t just decide that,” you said with a playful shove, trying to brush it off. You wanted to laugh, to keep things light, because it felt like a joke, right? Jack was your best friend, and this was just another one of his offhand remarks. You nudged his shoulder gently, trying to play along, but deep down, you felt a strange fluttering sensation in your chest that you didn’t fully understand.

Jack, however, didn’t back down. His smile didn’t waver for a second. In fact, he seemed to lean into it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He was so sure of himself, his confidence radiating in the way he sat there, relaxed and unfazed by the unexpected question he had just tossed into the air. It was as if he had always known this was where the conversation would lead.

“Why not?” he said with a shrug, as though it was an entirely reasonable suggestion. “You’re my best friend. And married people are best friends, right?”

The words hit you differently than you’d expected. You’d heard about marriage before, sure, but it was always in fairy tales, with knights and princesses and happily-ever-afters. You didn’t really know what marriage meant in a deep, meaningful way, but you understood one thing—Jack was asking you to be with him forever. And though you didn’t know exactly what that looked like, the idea of it felt warm, like the gentle glow of the setting sun.

You laughed, trying to push down the feeling welling up inside you. It was absurd. It was just Jack being Jack, always saying the first thing that popped into his head. Of course, it didn’t mean anything serious. You weren’t even sure he understood what he was really saying.

But still… something about the way he said it—so casually, so confidently—made your heart beat just a little bit faster. The idea of always being with him, of never being apart, settled somewhere deep in your chest. And for the first time, the word “marriage” didn’t feel like a fairy tale. It felt like a real possibility.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. The playful, teasing tone you wanted to use felt wrong all of a sudden. Jack’s grin hadn’t faltered, and his eyes were sparkling with the kind of certainty that only he could have. But you weren’t sure anymore whether you were laughing because it was funny, or because it felt real. Too real.

“Yeah, but…” you trailed off, staring at the ground for a moment, unsure of how to explain the confusion that was building inside of you. “We’re just kids. You can’t just decide to get married.”

Jack didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. He shrugged again, unbothered by your hesitation. “Why not? You’re my best friend. We’ve always done everything together. It just makes sense.”

His words lingered in the air, carrying a strange weight you hadn’t expected. His logic was simple, almost childishly so, but it struck something inside of you that made your chest tighten. You looked at him, really looked at him, for what felt like the first time in ages. Jack wasn’t just your best friend. He was something else, something more. And suddenly, you were hyper-aware of everything—the way his hand rested just inches from yours, the way the sun hit his hair, casting a golden halo around him. His words echoed in your mind. It just makes sense.

You felt a sudden rush of warmth flood your chest, spreading outward like the soft heat of the sun sinking lower on the horizon. You wanted to brush it off, to laugh it off, to keep things the way they always had been between the two of you. But deep down, you knew something had shifted.

You hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t expected it, but suddenly you couldn’t imagine a world where Jack wasn’t your best friend, where he wasn’t the person you shared every adventure with. And the thought of being by his side, of being his in a way that was more than just friends, settled over you in a way that made your heart race.

But it didn’t make sense, right? Not now. You were just seven. You didn’t know what marriage was supposed to mean. You didn’t know what love was. It was silly, wasn’t it? Just a passing thought.

Still, something inside you—something deep and soft—wanted it to be real. Wanted Jack to be that person. Always.

Behind you, just a few feet away, Luke had been quietly swinging, his tiny legs kicking rhythmically, the chains of the swing creaking softly with each motion. It had been a peaceful moment for him, one of those simple, innocent afternoons where he felt content in his small world. But now, in the middle of your conversation with Jack, something shifted for him.

Luke had always been content in his little world, his world of swings and sunsets, of quiet afternoons that stretched on forever. There was something peaceful about the way he lived, the simplicity of his routine, and the certainty that his big brother, Jack, would always be there beside him. And you—you had always been a steady presence in that world too, a familiar face in the background, someone who would push him on the swing when he asked or cheer him on when he kicked the ball to the other side of the yard.

But today, something was different. The moment he stopped swinging—dragging his feet against the ground, the sudden halt so jarring that the swing swayed a little before coming to a stop—it was like the entire air around him had shifted. He didn’t quite understand why, but something in his chest felt tight, something unsettled bubbled up from deep inside him. His feet dragged through the dirt, and his small body seemed to freeze mid-motion. The world around him, so familiar and safe just moments ago, now felt too big, too loud, too heavy.

He didn’t quite know what it was that had made him stop, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from it. Something in the way you and Jack were talking made him feel like he didn’t quite fit anymore. At first, he hadn’t understood the words—you were talking about things he didn’t know about, like the future and marriage, things that didn’t make sense to him at all. But it wasn’t the words themselves that caught his attention. It was the way you were both acting, the way you were standing there, so close to each other, like there was something that didn’t include him. Like there was a secret between you two, something that made him feel like he was no longer part of the picture.

His hands, which had once been gripping the swing chains tightly, now hung limp at his sides. He could feel the stillness in his body, a strange weight settling in his chest. He looked at you both, his little body small in comparison, trying to make sense of the way you were standing together, the way your attention was so entirely focused on Jack’s words, as though he was no longer someone who mattered in the conversation. You were his world too. You had always been his world. But now… now he wasn’t so sure.

Luke didn’t understand what was happening. Not really. He didn’t know what it meant when Jack said, “We should get married when we’re older.” All he knew was that something had shifted in the air, something unspoken, and it made him feel small. He wasn’t sure why, but the words left an ache in his chest that didn’t quite make sense. The way Jack spoke about it—so casually, so easily—made Luke feel like he was standing in the middle of something big, something important that he couldn’t be a part of. And for the first time, he felt like an outsider in a world he had once felt so safe in.

His feet shuffled in the dirt, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, feeling the uncomfortable tension settle deeper in his little heart. His big eyes, full of curiosity and innocence, were fixed on you both. But there was no joy in them, no spark of the usual childlike wonder. Instead, there was a quiet sadness, an intensity that seemed far too old for a seven-year-old. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He didn’t understand why he felt left out, why his world suddenly felt off-balance.

The truth was, he had always looked up to Jack. Jack had been his hero, his older brother, the one who showed him the ropes, made him laugh, and taught him how to throw a ball. But now, in this moment, Luke could sense a shift—a shift that was happening between you and Jack, one that made him feel like there was a new kind of connection between you two that he wasn’t part of. Something unspoken, something important. And that feeling of not being included, not being part of whatever was happening, felt too big for him to carry.

His little shoulders hunched, trying to make himself smaller, trying to avoid the strange feelings crawling up his spine. His feet dragged a little more as he turned away, walking back toward the swings, but he didn’t swing this time. He didn’t know if he could swing anymore, not with the weight in his chest, not with the way his mind felt heavy and confused. So, instead, he just stood there, watching the two of you, trying to make sense of it all.

From his vantage point, everything seemed too complicated. The way you and Jack laughed, how you exchanged looks, the way your attention was so fully on him—it was all so much. It wasn’t like it had been before. It wasn’t like the afternoons where you would smile at him and push him on the swing, where everything felt simple and clear. Now, there was a distance that seemed impossible to bridge, even though he had no idea what it was. All he knew was that he wanted to be a part of it again. He wanted to be included in that world, but he didn’t know how to get back to it.

He glanced over his shoulder at you once more, his eyes full of that quiet sadness, and in that moment, it felt like you were so far away. As if you had crossed some invisible line, and now there was a space between you that couldn’t be closed. His heart hurt. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t even understand marriage, but he understood the feeling—the feeling of not being enough, of not being included in something that had once been his.

But then, just as quietly, he turned back toward the swing. It was all he could do, this small child with no words for the ache in his chest, with no way to express the confusion that was crawling through his mind. He started to push the swing gently with his foot, the creaking chains barely audible over the stillness that hung in the air. But even as he moved, there was a heaviness in him, a quiet realization that something had changed. And that change—whatever it was—made him feel like he was standing on the outside looking in.

He couldn’t understand everything, not yet. But he could feel it. He could feel the change. And that was enough to make him pause, to make him stop swinging, to make him turn away. Because even without the words, he knew that whatever was happening between you and Jack was something that didn’t quite fit with the world he had always known. And in that small, quiet moment, he realized something that made his chest ache all the more: he was no longer the center of that world.

The lake house had always felt like a second home to you. It wasn’t just the lake that made it special, or the house itself, but the feeling of being away from everything familiar, yet somehow closer to everyone that mattered. That first summer you were invited to spend there when you were eight was a turning point in your childhood, a mark in time where everything seemed to shift, like the beginning of a chapter in a story that you didn’t know was going to be so important.

It was the first day, when the sun was still high and the smell of fresh pine and saltwater clung to the air, that you felt the magic of it all. You and Jack had already wasted no time in rushing to the water, shoes abandoned on the dock as you dove in, laughing, splashing, racing to see who could swim the fastest to the floating platform in the middle of the lake.

“I’m going to beat you!” Jack called, swimming ahead, his strokes cutting through the water with ease.

You kicked harder, determined not to let him win. “You wish!” you shouted back, splashing water in his direction.

“Last one there is a rotten egg!” Jack laughed, kicking his legs to build speed, his eyes bright with excitement.

But you could feel the burn in your muscles, the fatigue setting in as the floating platform grew closer. Jack was always faster, always the one who would win the challenges you came up with, but that didn’t matter. He made it fun—he always did. Every game felt like a race, and every race felt like it was the most important thing in the world. You were in it together, the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.

You finally reached the platform, gasping for breath, and Jack was already standing there, grinning with triumph. “You’re getting slow,” he teased, splashing water in your face.

You wiped your eyes and smirked. “I let you win,” you said, playfully sticking your tongue out at him.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack laughed, rolling his eyes. “But next time, I’m not going to make it so easy for you.”

You both floated there, letting the water gently rock you, eyes squinting up at the bright sky above. The feeling of the cool water against your skin was enough to make the heat of the summer day feel far away. But then, just as you were catching your breath, you noticed him.

Luke.

He was standing on the edge of the dock, his small frame barely noticeable as he gripped the edge tightly, watching you and Jack with wide eyes. He wasn’t in the water like you, wasn’t playing along with the games. He was just there, standing a little off to the side, as always.

You were so used to Jack’s loud presence, his infectious energy that drew everyone in, that it took a moment for you to really see Luke. He wasn’t as loud, wasn’t as reckless. He wasn’t the one making every day an adventure like Jack did. But there was something about the way he looked at you—something quiet and unspoken—that made your heart twinge. You were used to Luke tagging along, used to him always watching from the sidelines, but in that moment, it felt like something more. It felt like he was waiting for something that you couldn’t give him, at least not in the same way you gave Jack.

“Luke!” you called, waving at him from the water. “Come in, it’s awesome!”

Luke hesitated, his small fingers tightening on the dock as he glanced at Jack, who was still lounging on the platform. “I don’t know…” Luke mumbled, his voice quiet, unsure.

Jack perked up at the sound of his brother’s voice. “What’s the matter, Lukey? You scared?” He flashed a teasing grin, but there was a hint of challenge in his words.

Luke’s face scrunched, his little brows furrowing. “No,” he muttered, though there was no conviction behind it.

“Come on, Luke!” you called again, trying to sound enthusiastic. “It’s not that deep, and we’re having so much fun! You’ll love it!”

He bit his lip, clearly torn, before his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Okay. Fine.” He pulled off his sneakers and set them beside the dock, dipping one foot into the water cautiously.

You and Jack watched him for a moment, both of you already knowing that Luke wasn’t as confident as you were in the water. But after a few more encouraging shouts, Luke finally stepped in, wading slowly, his head barely above the water. You swam over to him, grinning.

“I knew you could do it!” you said, reaching out and offering him your hand. “Come on, we’re gonna race back to the dock.”

Luke took your hand, his grip tight but still tentative. He glanced at Jack, who had already started swimming back toward the shore. “I don’t think I can beat you two.”

“You don’t have to beat us,” you said with a shrug, smiling warmly. “Just swim with us. It’s more fun that way.”

He seemed to relax a little at your words, and for a few moments, the three of you swam together, splashing and laughing, the water cool against your skin. But even as you swam and played, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Luke wasn’t quite part of the same world as you and Jack. He was there, yes, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t as comfortable in the water, wasn’t as reckless in the way he approached everything. He seemed to linger at the edges of every game, a little hesitant to jump in fully, waiting for the perfect moment.

The sun soon set, leading the group of you to settle around the fire pit. As the flames crackled, casting their warm orange glow against the night, Luke couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease settling into his chest. He sat on the edge of the fire, a little further away from everyone else, trying to blend into the background. Jack’s ghost stories were always a source of amusement for everyone, but for Luke, they felt different. It wasn’t the ghosts themselves—he wasn’t afraid of that—but the way his older brother’s voice seemed to pull all the attention, to draw everyone in so effortlessly. And the way you—you—would laugh and play along, giving Jack that familiar, easy smile that made Luke’s heart flutter in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Luke had always been quiet, content with simple games and easy fun, where he didn’t have to think too much about anything. But lately, something had been shifting, and it seemed to revolve around you. It was as though something had clicked that afternoon a few weeks back—something small, but unmistakable—and now, as he sat on the edge of the firelight, his eyes kept drifting to you. Your laughter rang out as Jack continued with his stories. Every time Jack made a dramatic gesture or spoke in his spooky voice, you would laugh, your eyes lighting up with amusement, and Luke’s chest tightened with something he didn’t understand.

There was something in the way you looked at Jack—a warmth, a familiarity—that made Luke feel as though he was standing on the outside of a world he wasn’t allowed to be a part of. He wasn’t angry, exactly, just… distant. A seed of something had been planted in his chest, and it made him feel like he was growing up too fast, like everything around him was changing in ways he couldn’t keep up with.

As Jack’s voice dropped into that familiar eerie tone, Luke tried to focus on the flames. But the words Jack spoke carried a weight that Luke couldn’t shake.

“…and they say the ghost of the old man still haunts the lake,” Jack was saying, his voice dropping to an almost whisper, “waiting for someone to come too close to the water. They say if you stand on the dock at midnight, you can hear his footsteps behind you, dragging along the wood…”

You let out a little laugh and elbowed Jack in the side. “Jack, come on, that’s the oldest story in the book! You’re just trying to scare us.”

Jack grinned, clearly enjoying the reaction. “You don’t know that!” He leaned in closer, his voice lowering even further. “They say if you get too close to the edge, he’ll grab your ankle and pull you in, dragging you down into the depths of the lake, never to be seen again…”

You made a face, clearly pretending to be spooked. “Okay, okay, I’ll bite. But I’m still not scared.”

Luke found himself watching you intently as Jack wove his tale, his words spinning a web of eerie suspense. There was something in the way you played along—how you looked at Jack with that warm, teasing affection—that made something stir inside of him. But it was the way you glanced over at him in that moment, your eyes briefly catching his, that made his heart leap in his chest.

When you reached out and grabbed Luke’s arm during the spookiest part of the story, he froze. For a moment, he thought maybe it was just his imagination, but then he felt your fingers—warm and firm—wrap around his wrist. The touch was small, but it sent a rush of heat through him, making his heart race in his chest. He clenched his fingers instinctively, as if afraid the moment would slip away too quickly if he didn’t hold on. It felt like the whole world paused, and Luke couldn’t stop the flush that crept up his neck.

His fingers felt large and awkward beneath yours, but you didn’t pull away. And for that one brief moment, the ghost story, Jack’s teasing, everything else seemed to fade into the background. He was lost in the quiet of the space between you, the warmth of your hand on his wrist.

But then, just as quickly, you let go, laughing again, your fingers slipping from his. The moment passed so easily, so quickly, as if it had never happened at all. And Luke was left staring at his own hand, the lingering warmth still there, the ache in his chest growing.

Jack’s voice brought him back to the present. “And that’s when they say you’ll hear the screams of the old man, echoing across the water…”

Luke barely heard the rest. He didn’t want to hear it. Instead, he found himself once more focusing on you, sitting next to Jack, your laughter mixing with the sounds of the night.

The group moved down to the dock, and Luke stayed behind, slipping his feet into the cool water. The night was beautiful—deep and vast, the stars scattered above like jewels—but the beauty did little to soothe the tightness in his chest. He glanced over at you again, now lying on the dock next to Jack, both of you staring up at the stars. Jack was rambling on about his plans for the future, his voice excited, and you were listening so intently, leaning toward him. The way you looked at Jack, the way you gave him your full attention, made Luke feel even more distant.

Jack’s enthusiasm was too loud. His laughter rang too sharp against the silence, and Luke found himself retreating further into the stillness of the water, where he didn’t have to fight for attention. Where he could be just there, unnoticed, and just try to understand the confusion that swirled inside him.

It was Quinn who broke the silence, standing at the edge of the dock, his eyes catching Luke’s. The older boy had a way of knowing things without needing to be told. Quinn’s gaze softened, his expression unreadable, but Luke could sense the shift in him. The quiet understanding.

Luke quickly turned his eyes back to the water, not wanting Quinn to see, not wanting anyone to know how much he was changing inside. But Quinn had already seen it.

A small, almost knowing smile curled at Quinn’s lips. He nodded once, just a slight tilt of his head, as if acknowledging the unspoken shift that had started to settle in Luke’s heart.

Quinn didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. And in that moment, Luke felt something settle in his chest—something lighter, something like reassurance. He wasn’t sure if Quinn understood everything, but he felt a little less alone in it all.

But the night carried on, and Luke stayed at the edge of the world, staring at the stars, waiting for something to change, waiting for the gap between him and the rest of the world to close. He didn’t want to be left behind. Not anymore. But the ache inside him—stronger than before—was something he wasn’t sure how to share. He wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap between the feeling he had and the words he couldn’t find.

For now, though, he stayed silent. He stayed at the edge of the dock, watching the night pass by, hoping that one day, it would all come together. That the ache in his chest would make sense, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to carry it alone anymore.

The summers always stretched on endlessly, the lake house becoming more familiar with each passing day, and yet every time you and Jack rushed down the dock or leapt off the platform, the excitement felt new. It was a rhythm you had come to depend on, like the pulse of the water beneath you, the steady pattern of life that had taken root here by the lake.

But despite the constant flow of games and adventures, there were moments when the world seemed to slow, when the noise of the days fell away, leaving only the stars, the soft rustle of the trees, and the quiet company of Luke.

One of those nights had arrived by the end of the week, when the air had turned cool, and the sky stretched out above you like an endless canvas. You and Jack had spent the entire day competing—arguing over who could jump from the highest point on the dock, who could hold their breath underwater the longest, who could run from the house to the dock in the shortest time. It was the same thing every summer, the same challenges, the same breathless laughter. But as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, fatigue settled into your limbs, and for once, you and Jack let yourselves slow down.

Jack had gone inside to grab some snacks, leaving you alone with Luke.

Luke had been sitting quietly at the edge of the dock, his legs crossed, his hands braced behind him as he leaned back to stare at the night sky. He wasn’t as loud as Jack, never the first one to dive into the chaos, but there was something about the way he existed in these moments—so quietly, so fully—that made it feel like he belonged here just as much as anyone else.

You stretched out beside him, letting your legs dangle off the dock, the cool wood pressing against your bare skin. The air smelled like pine and lake water, thick with the warmth of the day fading into the crispness of the evening. The kind of night that felt so still, like everything in the world had paused just to let you breathe.

Luke shifted slightly beside you, and you noticed how he always sat a little closer than usual, how his knee brushed against yours every now and then as if he couldn’t quite figure out the space between you. But he didn’t say anything, and neither did you.

Instead, you both just watched the stars, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a blanket.

From Luke’s perspective, everything felt like it was slowing down.

The stars were so big tonight. They seemed to stretch on forever, like they were waiting for him to notice. He didn’t often sit this still, didn’t usually spend his time just watching the sky. There were rocks to skip and trees to climb, adventures to go on. But tonight, it felt different. Maybe it was the way the night air cooled his skin, the way the breeze felt like a promise, or the way you were beside him, the only sound your soft breaths mixing with the rustle of leaves in the trees.

He glanced at you. You looked so comfortable, so at ease, like the world was something you understood in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. Luke had always been quieter than Jack. He didn’t speak as easily, didn’t have the same kind of loud energy that Jack did. But in these moments with you, he didn’t feel like he needed to be anyone else. He didn’t need to act like Jack, didn’t have to say anything clever or jump into a race to prove himself.

Your quiet presence was enough.

But it was also something else. Something that made his stomach twist a little, made his thoughts turn into a confusing jumble. It was the way your knee brushed against his, how you never pulled away, how it felt like you had no problem being near him. You hadn’t noticed, of course. But Luke was aware. More aware than he should have been. His thoughts, his heart, they didn’t make sense. He had never been good at understanding what he was feeling.

He looked at the stars, trying to keep his mind occupied with something else. But there was a part of him that wanted to ask you questions. Wanted to talk to you, share something with you. But what could he say? What did he even feel?

“What’s that one?” he asked suddenly, pointing at a cluster of stars near the horizon.

You turned your head slightly, following his finger. “That’s Orion’s Belt,” you said, shifting to sit up a little. “Those three stars in a line. You can find them every year, and it’s said that they’re the hunter.”

Luke furrowed his brow. He wasn’t sure what the hunter meant. He didn’t know if he even understood the stars the way you did, but he wanted to know. Wanted to understand the world like you seemed to. “Why is he a hunter?” Luke asked, feeling the weight of the question in his chest, “What’s he hunting?”

You paused, and for a second, Luke thought maybe you hadn’t heard him, but then you responded, your voice soft, “I don’t know. I think it’s just something from old stories. Maybe he’s hunting for adventure or something big. He probably had dreams like we do.”

Luke stayed quiet for a moment, digesting your words. He watched the stars again, his mind turning over the idea. He wasn’t sure what adventure meant, but the idea of it—the feeling of searching for something more—caught his attention. He looked at you, your face lit by the soft glow of starlight, and he felt a sudden urge to ask another question. Not about stars this time, but something bigger.

“Do you think we’ll have adventures like that when we’re older?”

It was a question that felt too big, like a thought that had been floating in his chest for a while, and now it had finally found its way out. He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like he was standing on the edge of something—something he couldn’t quite see, but that made his heart beat faster. His voice was soft, quieter than usual. Almost uncertain. He wanted to know the answer, but he was also afraid of hearing it.

Luke’s question took you by surprise.

It was a simple question, really. But you could hear the quiet weight behind it, the way it lingered in the air, like Luke was asking for something more than just an answer about adventures. He was asking about the future. About his future. What kind of life he would have when things weren’t just about running around and having fun at the lake. What kind of person he would be when the world wasn’t as simple anymore.

You didn’t know. You hadn’t figured that out for yourself. You had spent so many summers here, growing up with Jack, and yet you couldn’t predict the next few years, let alone the kind of future Luke would have.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice soft as you turned back to the stars. “I think everyone has their own adventure. Maybe they’re different, but they’re all important. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Luke didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel the way his eyes lingered on you. You didn’t know exactly what was going on inside him, but you could tell that something had shifted in him tonight. Something you hadn’t seen before. There was a stillness to him now, a quiet understanding, and it felt like it was building up inside him, like he had caught a glimpse of something bigger, and it was all tangled up in that simple question.

And when you glanced at him, he wasn’t just looking at you. He was hearing you, too. His gaze was intense, thoughtful, and for a moment, it made your heart beat a little faster. You didn’t know what it meant. But it felt important.

After a while, Jack came back with a bag of chips, shoving the screen door open with a loud bang, breaking the quiet spell between you and Luke. The night faded back into its usual rhythm—Jack talking too loud, the crinkle of plastic as he ripped open the bag, the familiar chaos of another summer night at the lake.

But you couldn’t help noticing how Luke stayed close to you after that.

How he sat just a little closer than before, how he lingered beside you when Jack wasn’t looking, how he seemed to seek out your presence in little, unspoken ways. You didn’t know what it meant, but it felt different.

And even though you didn’t understand it yet, something about it felt like a beginning. Something you couldn’t quite name, but something you were starting to notice more each day.

For now, the night would go on, and Jack would fill it with his usual boisterous energy. But there was a shift, a quiet shift in Luke, that made you feel like the summer was moving forward in a way you hadn’t expected. The lake, the stars, the nights spent in quiet company—this was all part of it, part of the change that was unfolding slowly, one conversation, one glance at a time.

The next day dawned bright and cloudless, the kind of summer morning where the air was already thick with warmth, the sun glittering off the water like a thousand tiny diamonds. The lake was calm, barely a ripple disturbing its glassy surface, and the excitement buzzing between you and the boys was almost tangible.

Jack, as expected, was already hyped up, practically bouncing on the dock as he grabbed his paddle. His energy was endless, like he was constantly running on some invisible fuel that no one else could match. He turned to you and Luke, his grin wide and mischievous. “Alright,” he announced, puffing out his chest like a true competitor, “first one to the floating platform and back wins. No cheating.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re just saying that because you’re the biggest cheater here.”

Jack gasped in mock offense. “Me? A cheater? Please. I’m just naturally faster than you.”

Luke, who had been kneeling beside his canoe, adjusting his paddle, snorted. “You always cheat, Jack. You just call it strategy.”

Jack waggled his eyebrows. “It’s not my fault I’m smarter than you.”

“You’re not smarter,” Luke shot back. “You’re just reckless.”

Jack only grinned wider, already lowering himself into his canoe. “Same thing.”

With that, he was off, shoving away from the dock with an exaggerated push, his paddle slicing through the water in wild, hurried strokes. You barely had time to climb into your own canoe before Jack was halfway across the lake, moving with all the grace of a bull charging forward.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, grabbing your paddle and pushing off.

Luke, still on the dock, rolled his eyes before easing himself into his canoe, far less rushed than either of you. You could see the difference instantly—where Jack was all force and chaos, Luke moved carefully, steadily. His strokes were slower but more controlled, his canoe gliding through the water rather than thrashing against it.

You tried to catch up with Jack, pushing yourself forward, your arms already burning from the effort. The lake was bigger than it seemed from the shore, and the floating platform in the middle felt impossibly far away. Water splashed against your arms as you paddled harder, your breath coming in short, determined huffs. Jack was still ahead, but he wasn’t as smooth as he thought—his frantic paddling caused his canoe to veer slightly off course every now and then, forcing him to correct himself.

“You’re wasting energy!” you called out, laughing as you gained on him.

Jack only grinned over his shoulder. “Yeah, but I’m still winning!”

It wasn’t until you reached the platform that you let yourself rest, your canoe bumping gently against the side of the wooden float. Jack was already there, panting slightly but triumphant. He smacked his hand against the platform dramatically, as if claiming victory. “Boom. Winner.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Race isn’t over yet.”

Jack laughed, already pushing his canoe back toward the shore. “Better hurry up then!”

You were about to follow when you glanced back, realizing that Luke was still a little ways behind. He wasn’t struggling—far from it—but he wasn’t racing either. His strokes remained patient, steady, as if he wasn’t concerned about beating anyone. He was simply moving, letting the water carry him as much as he carried himself.

Something about that made you pause. Jack had already disappeared ahead, but suddenly, winning didn’t seem as important anymore. Instead of rushing after him, you turned your canoe slightly, slowing your strokes to match Luke’s pace.

He glanced up at you, surprised. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

You shrugged, resting your paddle across your lap for a moment. “I don’t mind.”

A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn’t say anything right away, but you could tell he appreciated it. The two of you paddled side by side, the sounds of the water lapping gently against the canoes filling the quiet between you.

Luke hesitated, then spoke, his voice softer than before. “Jack always makes everything a competition.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a laugh, shaking your head. “He doesn’t really know how to do things any other way.”

Luke glanced at you, thoughtful. “Do you like that?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

Luke’s paddle skimmed the surface of the water, creating small ripples. “Always having to race. Having everything be about winning.”

You exhaled, considering. With Jack, it had always been like that—fast-paced, wild, a constant need to prove something. And it was fun, most of the time. But there was something different about the way you were moving now, next to Luke, with no urgency, no need to rush.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing toward the shore where Jack was already climbing onto the dock, victorious. “I guess sometimes it’s nice to just—be.”

Luke nodded, his gaze fixed on the water. “Yeah.”

Neither of you spoke for a while after that, just paddling together in a comfortable silence. The sun was higher in the sky now, reflecting golden streaks onto the lake’s surface. You let yourself get lost in the rhythm of it, the slow, unhurried way Luke moved, how it felt like he wasn’t trying to chase anything—just experiencing it as it came.

By the time you finally reached the shore, Jack was waiting, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. “What took you guys so long?”

You shrugged, stepping out of the canoe and stretching your arms. “We were enjoying the view.”

Jack scoffed, but Luke just smiled knowingly. You caught the small look he gave you—like he understood something you hadn’t fully realized yet. And in that moment, standing there on the dock with the water dripping from your fingertips and the summer sun warming your skin, you realized that maybe, just maybe, Luke had the right idea all along.

The rainy days at the lake house had a magic of their own. They brought with them the soft patter of raindrops against the windows, the smell of damp earth rising from the porch, and the hum of restless energy that filled the house as you all searched for ways to entertain yourselves. The moment the first drops fell, signaling that you’d be stuck inside for the day, Jack would immediately declare, “Knee hockey tournament. Living room. Right now.”

It was a tradition. The coffee table was shoved to the side, pillows lined the edges of the room as makeshift boards, and everyone knew the stakes were high. Jack, naturally, was the most competitive, his grin practically splitting his face as he grabbed a mini stick and tossed you another. “Dream team, back again,” he announced, bumping his shoulder against yours. You caught the stick easily, already grinning. You and Jack were always the duo to beat, your quick reflexes and synchronized movement making you nearly unstoppable.

Quinn, ever the strategist, took his time choosing his teammate, tapping his chin dramatically before slinging an arm around Luke’s shoulders. “I’ll take Luke,” he said, grinning as if he knew something you didn’t.

Luke shifted beside him, his expression unreadable at first, but there was something in his eyes—something determined, something that almost looked like anticipation. He didn’t protest.

Jack just scoffed. “Good luck,” he teased, twirling his stick between his fingers. “You’ll need it.”

The first game was fast-paced, the sound of the plastic ball slapping against the hardwood floor echoing through the house. Jack and you worked in tandem, passing quickly, faking each other out, weaving through the small space with an ease that only came from years of playing together. Every goal you scored, Jack celebrated like it was a Stanley Cup game, yelling dramatically and sliding across the floor on his knees.

But Luke and Quinn weren’t easy to beat.

Luke wasn’t as fast as Jack, and he didn’t have Quinn’s sharp strategic mind, but he had something else—a quiet patience, a precision in the way he moved. He watched the plays unfold, predicting your movements, using his body and stick to block your best shots. He wasn’t reckless like Jack, wasn’t rushing headfirst into every play. Instead, he was steady, deliberate, thinking two steps ahead.

At first, you barely noticed. You were too caught up in the thrill of the game, too focused on scoring. But then, every time you tried to cut around him, he was just… there. Anticipating. Blocking. Smirking a little when he managed to steal the ball from you.

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You’re getting good at this, Lukey.”

He shrugged, but there was something teasing in the tilt of his lips. “Maybe I’ve always been good. You just never noticed.”

That threw you off more than it should have.

Jack groaned dramatically, cutting between you. “Stop flirting and play the game!”

You blinked, heat rushing to your face. “We’re not—”

But Luke just grinned, turning back to the game as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just sent your mind into a tailspin.

As the summers passed, knee hockey remained a staple of the rainy days, but something about those moments with Luke started to shift. It wasn’t just the way he played anymore—it was the way he was. The way he carried himself. He was taller now, his movements more confident. He didn’t hesitate as much, didn’t linger in Jack’s shadow like he used to.

And then there were the moments—small, fleeting, but impossible to ignore.

Like when you had just swum back to the dock one afternoon, breathless from racing Jack across the lake, your arms aching from the effort. Jack had already hoisted himself up, shaking out his wet hair like a dog before flopping onto his back. You reached for the dock’s edge, ready to pull yourself up when suddenly, there was Luke.

He was crouched at the edge, one hand outstretched toward you. His fingers curled slightly in a silent offer.

You hesitated for just a second before reaching up. His hand was warm despite the coolness of the water, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you up. For a moment, your fingers lingered together, your skin slick with water, your breath caught in your throat for reasons you didn’t quite understand.

And then, just as quickly as it had happened, Luke cleared his throat, dropping his gaze as he let go, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

You swallowed, trying to shake off whatever that had been.

Jack, oblivious as always, sat up, running a hand through his damp hair. “C’mon, let’s go again. Best two out of three.”

But Luke was still looking at you—like he knew something had shifted.

And maybe… maybe you did too.

Some nights, after the chaos of the day had settled and the others had gone inside, you and Luke found yourselves lying on the dock, staring up at the stars. It was never planned, never something you spoke about beforehand—it just happened.

Jack was usually the one who exhausted himself first, retreating inside after a long day of swimming and competing. Quinn would follow soon after, leaving you and Luke behind in the quiet lull of the night, the water gently lapping against the dock.

Luke lay beside you, arms folded behind his head, his gaze fixed on the sky. “Do you think it’s weird that everything looks so big at night?” he asked suddenly, his voice low.

You turned your head slightly to look at him. “Big?”

“Yeah,” he continued, his brows knitting together in thought. “Like, during the day, everything feels… normal. But at night, when you look up, it’s like—you realize how small you are.”

You stared up at the stars, the vast, endless expanse of them. “I guess so,” you murmured. “But I think that’s kind of nice. Like, it makes everything else—everything that feels too big—seem smaller.”

Luke was quiet for a moment, as if letting your words settle. Then, softly, “Yeah. I like that.”

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words.

Then, in a softer voice, Luke asked, “Do you ever think about what happens after this?”

You turned your head to look at him again, surprised by the question. “After what?”

“After all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the lake, at the sky. “After we grow up.”

You exhaled, staring up at the stars again. “Sometimes. But I try not to think about it too much. I like it here. I like now.”

Luke nodded slowly, as if he understood. And maybe he did. Maybe he felt the same.

The summers were changing. You were changing. And Luke wasn’t just Jack’s little brother anymore. He was something else—someone else. Though your heart still truly belonged to his older brother, no matter how hard Luke tried.

At sixteen, Jack told you after practice one afternoon, back home, when summer was still weeks away.

You had stayed late at the rink, the way you always did, dragging out the minutes after his practice because neither of you were ever in a hurry to leave. The ice had already been cleaned, the faint smell of Zamboni fumes still lingering in the air, and most of his teammates had already headed out. But Jack had slung an arm around your shoulders and said, “One more round,” and you never could say no to him.

So you skated circles around each other for another twenty minutes, taking lazy shots on goal, passing the puck back and forth without speaking. It was comfortable, easy. The way it had always been.

And then, after you finally dragged yourselves off the ice, you sat together outside the rink, letting the cool spring breeze dry the sweat still clinging to your skin. His hockey bag was tossed carelessly beside him, skates still half-laced like he hadn’t quite decided if he was done for the day. The sun was warm against your face, the kind of warmth that made the air feel electric, buzzing with the quiet anticipation of summer.

Jack leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him, and kicked absently at a dandelion sprouting between the cracks in the pavement. His voice was casual, easy, when he said it.

“Oh, by the way, I’ve got a girlfriend now.”

It took a second for the words to sink in.

You had been in the middle of reaching for your water bottle, fingers curling around the plastic, when the sentence hit you like a slap.

“What?”

Jack turned his head toward you, squinting against the sun, his mouth curling into that familiar lopsided grin. “Yeah. Alyssa. You know her, right? She’s in our chem class.”

You did know her.

She was blonde, pretty, and effortlessly cool—the kind of girl who seemed to float through life with an ease you had never quite mastered. The kind of girl who made sense for Jack, in a way you suddenly felt like you didn’t.

“Oh,” you said, forcing your expression into something neutral, something that wouldn’t betray the way your stomach had twisted into a knot. “That’s… cool.”

Jack’s grin widened, oblivious to the way your voice had faltered. “Yeah, she’s awesome. You’ll love her.”

You nodded, pretending to be interested, pretending that the sudden ache in your chest was nothing more than an odd reaction to the heat.

And then, as if the news itself hadn’t been enough, he added, “She’s coming to the lake house this summer.”

You felt like the ground had been yanked out from under you.

The lake house.

Your lake house.

The place that had always been yours—yours and Jack’s, yours and the Hughes’, yours and the memories you had built there for nearly a decade.

You swallowed, forcing your expression to stay neutral. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Jack didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. He just stretched his arms over his head, looking out at the parking lot like this was just another conversation, just another day. “It’s gonna be great. She’s never been, so I’ll need you to help me show her around.”

You wanted to tell him no.

You wanted to tell him she didn’t belong there, that the lake house wasn’t just some place—it was home. It was the sound of Jack’s laughter echoing off the water, the endless knee hockey battles on rainy days, the constellations you used to trace in the sky when the two of you were kids, whispering dreams about the future.

It wasn’t supposed to change.

But instead, you just nodded.

“Yeah,” you said, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat. “It’ll be fun.”

Jack grinned, already moving on, already pulling out his phone to check his messages, like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down.

And just like that, everything shifted.

The first night at the lake house, you couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t Alyssa’s fault. Not really.

She was nice in the effortless way that pretty girls always seemed to be. She laughed at Jack’s jokes, tucked herself easily into the spaces that had once been yours, fit in with the family like she had always belonged. She had only been here for a few hours, and yet somehow, she already knew which cabinet the cereal was in, already had Quinn rolling his eyes at one of Jack’s ridiculous stories, already knew exactly how to lean into Jack’s side at the dinner table like she had always been the one sitting next to him.

Like that seat had never been yours to begin with.

Maybe it never was.

Maybe you were the one who had been holding onto something that had never really belonged to you.

So you smiled. You nodded when she spoke to you, laughed when you were supposed to, played the role of best friend because that’s all you had ever been. And if your fingers curled a little too tightly around the edge of the table, if your stomach twisted every time Jack whispered something into her ear, if the food on your plate went mostly untouched—no one noticed.

Or at least, you thought they didn’t.

The house settled into a comfortable quiet as the night stretched on, the familiar creaks of the wooden floors, the distant hum of crickets beyond the porch screens. Jack and Alyssa had disappeared upstairs together after dinner, their laughter trailing up the staircase, and you had felt something inside of you unravel.

So you had slipped out onto the porch, closing the door quietly behind you, needing air, needing space, needing something to dull the ache in your chest.

The lake stretched out before you, dark and endless, the water lapping gently against the dock. It should have been comforting. It always had been before. But tonight, it felt hollow.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, pressing your fingers into your ribs as if that would somehow keep the hurt from spilling out.

The door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn, but you knew who it was before he even spoke.

Luke.

He was always the one who lingered. The one who noticed things even when you tried to hide them.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed against yours, his body warm against the cool night air. He didn’t try to fill the silence, didn’t try to force words where they didn’t belong.

And for some reason, that was what undid you.

The tears came before you could stop them, silent at first, then harder, faster, your shoulders shaking as you tried to hold it in, tried to pretend you weren’t breaking apart right there on the porch.

Luke let out a quiet breath, barely audible over the sound of the water. And then, without hesitation, he reached out, pulling you into him.

You didn’t resist.

You buried your face against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his sweatshirt like it was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely.

He was warm. Solid. Safe.

His arms tightened around you, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head as he let you sob into him, let you break apart without saying a word.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—curled into Luke’s chest, the fabric of his sweatshirt damp beneath your cheek, your fingers still twisted into the material like you were afraid to let go. But Luke never moved. Never let go. He just held you like he had been waiting to, like he had always known this moment would come.

And maybe it was because you were crying too hard, or maybe it was because your mind was too clouded with grief for something you had never really had—but you didn’t hear it.

You didn’t hear the way Luke exhaled shakily, like he was holding back something too big to say aloud.

You didn’t hear the quiet, broken words he finally let slip.

“If only I were him.”

But Quinn did.

He had been walking past on his way to the kitchen, pausing at the doorway when he saw the two of you.

His expression was unreadable as he stood there, watching the way Luke held you, the way his fingers curled ever so slightly into the fabric of your sweatshirt, the way he looked at you.

And then, without a word, Quinn turned and walked away.

You had eventually left him there.

Slipped out of his arms, whispered a quiet ‘thank you’, and disappeared back into the house before he could stop you. Before he could say anything—before he could ask you to stay.

Luke had let you go, even though everything in him had wanted to hold on just a little longer. Just long enough to keep you close, to keep you from slipping through his fingers like water, like you always did.

Now, the dock was empty except for him.

But the ghost of you remained.

The warmth of you still clung to his sweatshirt, the scent of lake water and the faintest hint of whatever soap you used lingering in the fabric. The weight of you had pressed into his side, curled into his chest as you cried, and even though you were gone, he still felt you there.

Luke sat motionless, staring out at the water, his breath slow and uneven. The lake stretched out in front of him, vast and endless, its surface dark except for where the moonlight painted streaks of silver. It was quiet now—no laughter, no voices drifting from the house, just the steady lapping of the water against the dock, the occasional rustling of the trees in the breeze.

He should have gone inside.

Should have shaken it off, pretended like nothing had happened. Like holding you, feeling you tremble against him, hadn’t carved something deep into his chest. Like it hadn’t made him ache in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from.

But he couldn’t move.

Because the truth sat too heavy in his bones, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Because the words had already slipped past his lips.

Soft, quiet, spoken to no one but the night itself.

‘If only I were him.’

Luke squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face, as if he could erase the thought from his mind, as if he could shove it back down into the part of himself that he had spent years trying to ignore.

But it was too late.

Because the words were out there now, hanging in the cool night air, impossible to take back.

He wished he were Jack.

He wished, just for a second, that he had been born in a different place, with a different name, with a different place in your heart.

Because then maybe—just maybe—you would have seen him.

Not as Jack’s little brother.

Not as a second choice.

Not as the boy who was always just a little too young, a little too quiet, a little too easy to overlook.

But as someone.

As yours.

Luke let out a slow breath, staring down at his hands. His fingers curled into his sweatshirt—your sweatshirt now, because he knew you’d probably stolen it from Jack’s room at some point. His grip tightened, like if he held on tight enough, he could still feel you there.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you hadn’t heard him.

You hadn’t heard the quiet confession, the words that had been sitting in his chest for longer than he wanted to admit.

And even if you had…

You still wouldn’t have understood what they meant.

But Quinn had heard.

Luke heard the footsteps before he saw him.

The quiet creak of the old wooden boards, the familiar rhythm of Quinn’s stride—it was enough to tell him he wasn’t alone anymore. But he didn’t look up. He just kept his gaze locked on the water, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he could wring the frustration from his bones.

Quinn didn’t speak as he lowered himself onto the dock beside him, stretching his legs out in front of him, their shoulders barely brushing. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The night was still, the lake stretching out before them, dark and endless. The moon carved a silver path across its surface, shimmering in the gentle ripple of the waves. It should have been peaceful. It had always been peaceful before. But now, the silence only seemed to amplify the storm raging in Luke’s chest.

He stared at the water, trying to steady himself, trying to ignore the way his pulse still hadn’t settled since you had been in his arms, since your tears had soaked into his sweatshirt, since you had disappeared inside without ever hearing what he had said, the words still sitting bitter on his tongue.

Quinn exhaled beside him, breaking the quiet with a sigh that felt heavier than it should have. And then, finally, he spoke.

“You love her.”

Not a question. Just fact.

Luke let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head. His grip on his hands tightened, knuckles white in the moonlight. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Quinn’s voice was softer this time, but there was something firm underneath it, something unyielding. “You should tell her.”

Luke scoffed, shaking his head. His throat burned, the weight of it all pressing down on him. “She loves Jack.”

The words came out sharp, clipped. He hadn’t meant them to. But saying them aloud made them feel heavier, like they held more truth than they should.

Quinn didn’t say anything for a long time.

The air between them was thick with something unspoken, something impossible to name. Luke could hear everything—the soft rustling of the trees, the distant hum of crickets, the steady lapping of the lake against the dock. It all felt too loud, too sharp against the quiet ache settling in his chest.

And then, finally, Quinn broke the silence.

“She thinks she does.” His voice was careful, measured. “But she’s never even thought about you as an option.”

The words hit Luke harder than he expected.

Because they were true.

You had never looked at him the way you looked at Jack. Never let your gaze linger. Never let your fingers brush his just to feel the contact. Never let yourself wonder if maybe—just maybe—he could be someone to you.

Because to you, there was only ever Jack.

Luke clenched his jaw, his chest tight, his stomach twisting itself into knots. His fists curled against his knees, nails biting into his palms.

“Because I was born in the wrong place,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “If I were Jack…”

But Quinn cut him off before he could finish.

“But you’re not Jack.” His voice was quiet, steady, but there was something firm beneath it, something final. “And maybe that’s a good thing.”

Luke swallowed hard, staring out at the water, at the reflection of the stars shimmering in the dark.

But he wasn’t sure Quinn was right.

Because if being himself meant always being second, always being the afterthought, always sitting alone on this damn dock while you smiled at someone else—then he wasn’t sure he wanted to be Luke at all.

Luke never brought it up. And neither did you.

The night you had cried into his chest, the way his arms had wrapped around you so tightly—like he could somehow hold you together—it was never mentioned again. It became one of those moments that lived in the quiet spaces between you, something fragile and unspoken.

But it lingered.

He felt it every time you sat at the dinner table, smiling when you were supposed to, nodding along as Alyssa laughed at something Jack said. Every time your fingers curled around the edge of your glass just a little too tightly. Every time your eyes drifted toward them—toward Jack and the girl at his side—and took on that faraway look, glassy and unreadable.

Luke knew you were hurting.

And God, he hated it.

But there was nothing he could do.

Because even though he wanted to reach across the space between you, to shake you, to tell you that Jack wasn’t the only person in the world worth loving—you didn’t see it.

You didn’t see him.

And Luke didn’t know which was worse: the fact that you were in love with Jack or the fact that you didn’t even realize how much Luke loved you.

So he stayed quiet.

He watched as the summer stretched on, as you smiled when you were supposed to, as you forced yourself to be okay. And maybe to everyone else, it worked. Maybe Jack and Alyssa and even Quinn believed the act.

But Luke didn’t.

He saw how your hands clenched in your lap every time Jack threw an arm around Alyssa’s shoulders. He saw the way your throat tightened when she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He saw the way you looked away, always just a second too late, always after the damage had already been done.

And it killed him.

Because you deserved more than this—more than spending the summer pretending you were fine, pretending your heart wasn’t breaking every time Jack smiled at someone who wasn’t you.

Luke wanted to tell you that.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just kept sitting beside you on the dock, kept making quiet jokes when the house got too loud, kept handing you a marshmallow before you even had to ask for one by the fire. Kept being there, in the only way you would let him be.

And maybe that wasn’t enough.

But it was all he had.

The first time you missed the trip to the lake house, it seemed trivial. Just a weekend, right? You could make up some reason—something simple that wouldn’t raise suspicions. Family obligations, work commitments, even the classic “I’ve got a lot of homework” excuse would be enough. After all, you’d been going to the lake house for as long as you could remember. It had become a part of you, woven into the fabric of your summers, a backdrop to countless memories with Jack, Luke, and Quinn. A weekend away wouldn’t change anything, right?

But it did.

You could feel it the moment you hung up the phone with Jack. The weight in your chest, heavy and undeniable. You thought you could escape the feeling, put it out of your mind, but it lingered in the corners of your thoughts. The lake house wasn’t just a place; it was a memory, a comfort, and now it was a reminder of everything you were trying to avoid.

You told yourself it would just be one weekend. That you were just taking a break. You convinced yourself it was temporary. You were busy, that’s all. There would be another time. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple. There was something more, something unspoken between you and the others that you didn’t know how to confront. It had been brewing for weeks now, something under the surface, something you couldn’t put into words.

When Jack called, you almost dreaded hearing his voice. It was familiar, comforting, but also the thing that felt like a weight around your neck. The guilt hit you all over again, curling deep in your stomach.

“Hey, are you coming this weekend?” Jack’s voice was casual, but there was an edge of expectation underneath it. “We’ll be at the lake house, like always.”

You could hear the unspoken promise in his tone—this is what we always do. And you hated yourself for it. Hated that you couldn’t just say yes, that you couldn’t be there like you always were. Your hand gripped the edge of the counter, your knuckles white, as your mind raced for an answer.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to slip back into that familiar rhythm, to fall into the comfort of the lake house and the people who filled it. You wanted to be with Jack and Quinn, and especially Luke, but the thought of seeing them all together made your chest tighten. You weren’t ready. Not yet. You didn’t know how to face them, how to face yourself in that space. You couldn’t bear to see their faces, not when you had so much left unsaid, so much you hadn’t dealt with.

“I… I can’t, Jack,” you said, your voice faltering just slightly as you tried to keep the lie steady. “I’ve got work.” The words sounded hollow, even to your own ears, and the guilt twisted in your gut. “Maybe next time.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. You could almost hear him processing, trying to understand, but the confusion lingered there in the quiet. You hated that it was so easy to lie, that the words came so naturally. You hadn’t been ready to deal with what was really going on inside you, and so you just pushed it all down.

Jack sighed, a sound that carried a touch of disappointment, but also something more—something patient. He always knew how to give you space when you needed it, even when it hurt him. “Alright,” he said softly, his tone still holding that hint of sadness. “Well, we’ll miss you. But I get it. Just… don’t stay away too long, okay?”

You promised him you wouldn’t, but deep down, you knew you were lying. You didn’t know when you’d go back, or if you would. And as soon as you hung up the phone, you knew the distance between you and the lake house, between you and them, was widening.

The next weekend came, and you stayed home again. And the one after that. And then it became easier—slipping out of the routine, making new excuses, burying yourself in other things so that you wouldn’t have to think about it. It was easier to hide behind a wall of work and other commitments than to face the truth.

And what was the truth? That you weren’t ready. Not for the lake house, not for Jack and Alyssa, not for Luke. It was easier this way, wasn’t it? To stay away. To pretend like everything was fine, like you didn’t feel the aching pull between what was and what could never be again.

The absence didn’t go unnoticed, though. Not by Jack, and certainly not by Luke.

Jack didn’t say much. Maybe he didn’t want to push you too hard. You were always good at deflecting, at making light of things, and maybe that’s what Jack saw in you—a person who was always willing to pull herself together, even when it didn’t make sense. But Luke? Luke noticed everything. Every little shift, every subtle change. And when you weren’t there, when you stopped showing up, it was like a part of him was missing too.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks, and you knew it. The last time you’d crossed paths had been so fleeting—just a few minutes at the grocery store, the briefest exchange of glances. He’d smiled at you, but it wasn’t the smile you remembered. It was distant, guarded, like he was afraid to get too close. And maybe he was. You were afraid too.

It wasn’t just that Luke noticed your absence—it was the weight of what was left unsaid between you, the quiet space that had grown larger with every missed trip. Every time you saw him from a distance, there was something in his eyes that pulled at you, something unspoken that you couldn’t ignore, but also couldn’t face. You had known him longer than anyone else, and yet now, he was the one you couldn’t quite reach.

The weeks stretched on, and the distance between you and the lake house deepened. It wasn’t just the physical distance—it was the emotional gap that had started to separate you from Jack, from Luke, from everything you had once known.

And Luke? Luke was the hardest part of all. Because no matter how hard you tried to keep your distance, no matter how many excuses you made, you couldn’t escape the way your heart twisted whenever you thought of him. You couldn’t escape the way you missed him—missed the way he’d been there for you, the way his presence had felt like home. It was easier to pretend, to tell yourself that you were just busy, but you knew the truth: you were avoiding him. You were avoiding everything, and truly you didn’t understand why.

The silence between you and the lake house grew louder with each passing day. And somehow, you felt yourself drifting further away—not just from the lake house, but from everyone you once considered family. But you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Because if you did, if you allowed yourself to face them, then you’d have to face everything you were running from. And that was the hardest part of all.

The week after the summer had ended and you missed yet another lake house trip, Quinn found you. He hadn’t been looking for you exactly. He wasn’t sure what had driven him to come, but the truth was he knew something was wrong. You’d stopped coming, and it was starting to weigh on him. The silence between your absence and Luke’s growing frustration wasn’t something Quinn could ignore, even though Luke never said a word about it. But Quinn could feel it—could feel how the absence of you was slowly becoming too heavy for all of them to carry.

Quinn had no clear plan as he stood outside your door, his knuckles hovering just above the wood, unsure of whether he should knock or simply leave. The house had always been a place of comfort, a home that felt like his, but today, it seemed different. Quiet in a way that made his chest tighten, the sounds of your laughter no longer filling the corners. The soft shuffle of your footsteps, the casual conversations you’d had over the years—those sounds were missing, and in their place was a hollow emptiness that Quinn could almost taste.

You answered the door slowly, and for a moment, he wondered if you had been expecting someone else. Your eyes were too tired, too distant, and there was something about the way you stood there, half hiding behind the door, that made him feel as though you were trying to shield yourself from something—or maybe from him. He couldn’t quite tell.

He didn’t want to make things worse. He wasn’t sure how much to push, how much you’d be willing to share. The hesitation in his step betrayed his uncertainty, but when you met his gaze, he saw something that twisted in his chest: something sad and lost.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, the words hanging in the air between you.

You gave a small smile, but it was strained, and Quinn could see right through it. He didn’t believe you for a second.

“Yeah, just… busy with school and everything. You know how it is.” You shrugged, but the motion felt hollow, and your eyes never quite met his.

Quinn nodded, but he knew it wasn’t the whole story. He could feel it—could feel how your words didn’t match what was in your eyes.

“You haven’t been around the lake house much, though,” Quinn ventured, his voice calm but holding a trace of concern that you couldn’t miss.

You shifted slightly, the space between you both feeling thicker than it should. “I’ve just got a lot going on.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t the real reason, not by a long shot. “Really? Because Jack misses you. We all miss you.”

At that, he saw it—the brief flicker in your eyes. It was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Hurt. Regret. Whatever it was, it made Quinn’s chest ache, his heartbeat a little heavier. There was something more to this than you were letting on, something that made him wonder if you even saw how much everyone else was hurting.

A long silence stretched out between you both, a quiet that felt like it would swallow him whole. The distance was painful. It had always been easy between you and him—friendly, easygoing. But this, this was something different. Something that Quinn didn’t know how to fix, but something he couldn’t leave unresolved either.

Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Quinn. It just doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and heavy, and Quinn’s heart sank. He had always known you as part of the rhythm of the lake house, the one constant they could count on. And now, you were drifting away, and he had no idea how to pull you back in.

“What do you mean?” Quinn asked, trying to keep his voice steady. It wasn’t like you to avoid questions like this, to shy away from the truth.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, a flicker of pain passing over your features before you spoke again. “Everything’s changed. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Maybe it’s not about fixing it,” Quinn said, his voice gentle but firm. “Maybe you don’t need to fix anything. Just… come back. Come back to the lake house. We miss you.”

You shook your head slightly, stepping back from the door, as if you were trying to distance yourself from him, from everyone else. “I can’t. It’s too hard.”

Quinn’s stomach twisted with the weight of your words. It wasn’t just that you were avoiding the lake house—it was that you had withdrawn from everything. From everyone. And that scared him more than he let on.

“It’s not about being perfect,” Quinn said, his voice quiet now. “We’re all just… trying to figure things out.” He took a step closer, his eyes softening as he met your gaze. “We just need you to be there. We all do.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time, but Quinn could feel how your breath quickened, how the weight of what he was saying started to sink in.

“I don’t belong there anymore,” you murmured, your voice cracking on the last word.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of realization. It wasn’t just about the lake house. It was about you, about how you had come to see yourself outside of all of them, outside of the family you’d once been a part of. And that hurt. It hurt more than he was prepared for.

“Of course, you belong there,” Quinn said, his voice breaking a little. “You always have.”

But you didn’t believe it, did you? Quinn could see it in your eyes—the sadness that seemed to swirl just below the surface, a darkness he couldn’t reach. He felt helpless in a way he never had before. He didn’t know how to make it right, how to bring you back to them.

“I miss you at the lake house,” he admitted, his voice softer now, raw with emotion. “We all do. Jack misses you. Luke misses you more than you know.”

Your chest tightened at that, the truth of his words cutting through your defenses. You knew Luke missed you. In fact, it was one of the hardest things to face—that the one person you didn’t know how to deal with, the one person you couldn’t bring yourself to confront, was the one who missed you most.

“Maybe,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “but it doesn’t matter. Things are different now.”

Quinn studied you for a long time, his gaze intense and unwavering. You wanted to look away, to shut him out, but his eyes held you captive. You saw it then—the rawness, the vulnerability, the care that Quinn had never been one to show so openly.

“I know you think it’s different,” Quinn said quietly, “but you’re wrong. Things haven’t changed as much as you think. You’re still part of this family. You always will be.”

And in that moment, with those words hanging in the air between you both, you could feel something shifting. You didn’t know if it would be enough to bring you back to the lake house, back to them, but you could feel it in your bones: the connection, the love, the deep-rooted truth that no matter how far you pulled away, they would always be there, waiting.

The next few weeks were a blur. Jack kept calling, trying to bridge the gap, and you kept finding reasons to avoid his calls. Work. Homework. Other commitments. It never seemed to stop, and every time you answered with another excuse, the guilt only piled higher.

But Luke… you hadn’t seen Luke in weeks. And that absence? That ache in your chest that you just couldn’t explain when you thought about him? It was always there, quietly gnawing at you, reminding you of what you were running from.

Then, one afternoon, Jack showed up at your door.

His presence was like a weight, a storm that had been gathering, ready to break. Standing there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by something quieter, more serious. The frustration in his eyes was unmistakable, and his voice, when he spoke, was softer than it had ever been.

“I don’t get it,” Jack said, his words hanging between you both. “What happened? Why are you pulling away?”

You swallowed hard, a lump rising in your throat. There was no easy way to answer, no simple excuse you could give to make it go away. “I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… need space.”

Jack’s expression softened, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell how deeply he felt the distance. “You don’t need to do this alone, you know? We’re all here for you.”

You nodded, but even the words felt hollow. “I know. I just… I’m not sure how to fit back in.”

Jack took a step forward, his gaze intense as it locked with yours. “Don’t shut us out. We’re your family.”

And just like that, the weight of it all hit you—the weight of the lake house, of Jack, of Luke. You couldn’t keep running away, not anymore. But you weren’t sure how to face the truth. The truth that Luke was still there, waiting, somewhere in the shadows, and the hardest part of it all was knowing that, maybe, you hadn’t been able to face him yet.

The air was beginning to shift as the first hints of fall whispered across the trees, rustling the leaves in the distance. It had been another summer of avoidance—weeks stretching into months, each one slipping by as you found more and more reasons to stay away from the lake house, from Jack, from Luke. The reasons weren’t as simple as school or work or family, but they were the excuses you told yourself to make it easier. To convince yourself that pulling away didn’t matter. But as you sat behind the wheel of your car, driving down the familiar road leading to the lake, you couldn’t deny the knot in your stomach.

You didn’t know how you’d gotten here, but you could feel the weight of it in your bones—the guilt, the emptiness. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt truly connected to any of it. To the people, to the place that had once been everything. It was as if, over the course of a summer, the distance between you and them had grown to a point where it felt too difficult to cross back.

You could see the lake house in the distance, the same wooden structure that had once felt like home, but now it was just a shadow of itself. Everything about it felt different, hollow in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

As you stepped out of your car and made your way down the familiar path that led to the dock, you wondered why you were here. You had avoided coming for so long—avoided the people, avoided Luke. And now, walking in the direction of the place you had always felt safest, you couldn’t help but feel like a stranger.

Your eyes scanned the area as you approached the dock, the soft sound of water lapping against the shore mixing with the gentle rustling of the trees in the breeze. It felt peaceful, serene even, but there was an ache in your chest you couldn’t ignore. A heaviness that made your steps feel uncertain, as if you weren’t quite sure you were supposed to be here.

And then you saw him.

Luke was sitting on the edge of the dock by the water, his back stiff, his hands resting on the wooden panels beneath him. He hadn’t noticed you yet, his gaze fixed out toward the horizon, where the golden light from the setting sun danced across the surface of the lake. His hat was pulled low over his face, casting a shadow that made his expression unreadable, but there was something about the stillness of his figure that made your chest tighten.

It was like time had paused in that moment. The world around you faded as you watched him, your eyes tracing the outline of his silhouette, the familiar shape of him that you hadn’t seen in weeks. There was a distance between you now, one that seemed to stretch out endlessly, a chasm that you had been too afraid to face.

You hadn’t meant to avoid him, not really. But with Jack and Alyssa together, everything had changed. And with every day that passed, the more it seemed impossible to go back to how it was before. You missed Luke. You missed the way he’d been there for you, the way he had always been in the background, supportive and understanding in a way that was easy to take for granted. And yet, when you thought about him, you always found yourself circling back to the same thought: It’s too late now.

The wind picked up, and the leaves in the trees swayed gently, their movement in rhythm with the pulse in your chest. You stood still for a long moment, just watching him, unsure of what to do next. The quiet between you felt suffocating, a reminder of the unspoken words that had been left unsaid for so long. You wanted to call out to him, to ask how he had been, to break the silence and bridge the gap that had been growing between you. But you stayed silent, not knowing what to say, what right you had to speak when you had stayed away for so long.

Then, as if sensing your presence, Luke shifted slightly. His body tensed for a moment before he turned, his eyes lifting slowly from the horizon to meet yours.

In that instant, everything in you seemed to stop. His gaze was heavy, intense, as if he had been waiting for this moment—waiting for you to come back. But there was something more in his eyes, something deeper. His expression was unreadable, but there was an undeniable pull in the way he looked at you, like he was seeing through all the walls you’d built up, all the excuses you’d made.

“Y/N,” Luke said quietly, his voice carrying across the distance between you. He didn’t stand up, didn’t move. He just stayed there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if you hadn’t been avoiding him for months.

You couldn’t find the words. You wanted to say something, anything to break the silence, but nothing came. Instead, you just took a step closer, stopping a few feet away from him. You both stared at each other for a long time, the quiet stretching out longer than either of you was comfortable with.

Finally, Luke broke the silence. “Why do you keep running away?” His voice wasn’t angry, but there was a rawness to it that you hadn’t expected.

You froze, the question hitting you harder than you thought it would. “I’m not running,” you said quickly, trying to sound calm, but even you could hear the lie in your voice.

“Yes, you are,” Luke replied, his words sharp now, like they had been building up for a long time. “From the lake house, from me.”

The words stung more than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You just stood there, unable to process what he had said, what he was implying. You felt something inside you snap, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it.

“Luke, what are you talking about?” you finally asked, your voice coming out softer than you had intended.

Luke let out a sharp breath, like the weight of everything he had been holding in was finally too much. He stood up then, but didn’t come closer. Instead, he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time in a long while, like he was waiting for you to really see him, to understand what he had been carrying.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, the words slipping out of his mouth like a confession he had been holding onto for years. “I’ve loved you since before I even knew what love was.”

The world around you seemed to stop. The trees, the water, even the air itself seemed to freeze in place, leaving you standing there, staring at him in stunned silence. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came.

Luke took a step closer, his voice growing quieter now, but more intense. “But you never saw me, did you? I was just Jack’s little brother to you. I was always just there. In the background. You never noticed me for anything else.”

His words hit you like a freight train, shattering everything you thought you knew about yourself, about him, about what had been right in front of you all along. You stood there, frozen, as if the world around you had suddenly slowed down. His confession wasn’t just a declaration—it was a breaking point, a revelation that you couldn’t escape. You had always thought you knew who Luke was, always thought you understood the quiet, steady presence he had been in your life. But you had been blind.

The memories flooded back all at once—those small, seemingly insignificant moments you had brushed aside without a second thought. The way Luke’s gaze would linger on you when you laughed, how he would stay behind after everyone else had gone home to help clean up, how his voice had always been a little softer, a little more patient whenever he spoke to you. The way he had stood in the background, never demanding anything from you, never asking for more, but always there. Always just a little too quiet, a little too distant, a little too kind for you to notice. And now, as the weight of what he had just said hung heavy in the air, you understood. All those moments weren’t coincidences. They had been his way of loving you without you ever realizing it.

You opened your mouth to speak, to process it all, but the words were stuck in your throat. I never knew. The thought echoed relentlessly in your mind, but you couldn’t say it aloud. You couldn’t bring yourself to voice the truth, not yet. It was too overwhelming, too raw, and yet, as much as you wanted to deny it, you felt the heavy sting of regret curling up from somewhere deep within you. You had missed it. You had missed him.

You took a small step forward, the movement feeling more like a leap into an unknown space, like walking on the edge of something fragile and delicate. Every part of you felt exposed, the rawness of the moment too intense for your usual walls to hold up. Your heart was hammering in your chest, each beat louder than the last, thumping in your ears as if to remind you how real this was.

Luke was still watching you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those familiar eyes—spoke everything. There was a softness in them now, a quiet vulnerability that you had never seen before. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look bitter. He didn’t look like he had been holding onto this for years just to lash out. No, instead, he was just standing there—quiet, patient, waiting. Waiting for you to see him. Waiting for you to finally look at him the way he had always looked at you.

You took another step closer, the words that had been building in your chest finally spilling out. “Luke…” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper, but it was enough for him to hear. Enough for the world to hear the weight of it all. “I never knew.”

There was no sudden shift in him—no dramatic reaction, no sigh of relief. He didn’t move. He didn’t take a step toward you or away from you. Instead, his expression softened even further, and for the first time in years, you saw Luke as he truly was—vulnerable, raw, and, in that moment, completely open to you. He wasn’t holding back anymore. He wasn’t hiding his feelings, wasn’t waiting for you to come to him. He had already given everything he could, and now it was up to you to decide what came next.

“I know,” he whispered back, his voice so soft that you almost couldn’t hear it over the pounding of your heart. It was a simple response, but it felt like it contained the weight of everything he had carried, everything he had hoped for. “But I needed you to.”

The words hung in the air, a delicate thread between you both, and you felt the weight of them settle in your chest. He needed you to see him. He needed you to stop running, to stop avoiding the truth that had always been there, hiding behind the easy smiles and the comfort of friendship. He needed you to finally understand that, all this time, he had been right there. Right in front of you. And you had missed him.

It wasn’t just about the lake house, or Jack, or the old memories of summers past. It was about you and Luke. About everything that had been unsaid, everything that had been quietly building up in the background while you had been so caught up in your own confusion, your own feelings for Jack. You had never allowed yourself to see what was standing right there in front of you—what had been waiting for you all along.

A sudden ache pierced through your chest, a mix of regret, guilt, and something else—something you couldn’t quite name. You had been running from him. You had been running from his love, from the possibility of something deeper, something real. And now, standing there, with him just a few feet away, you realized just how much you had lost by not seeing him sooner.

Luke was still standing there, waiting. He wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t asking for anything. He had already given you everything. His love. His time. His patience. He had been there for you in ways you hadn’t even understood until now. And for the first time, you felt the full weight of it.

You took a deep breath, the air around you thick with emotion, and you felt something shift inside you. You had been running for so long, but now, in this moment, you didn’t want to run anymore. You didn’t want to hide from the truth. You wanted to stop pretending that everything was fine, that you had everything figured out when, in reality, you had been avoiding the one thing that could make everything right.

The silence hung in the air, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t a chasm between you that needed to be filled with words, but a soft space of understanding, a quiet kind of anticipation. It was as though everything that had once been said, and everything that had been left unsaid, was coming together in this one moment. The weight of what Luke had shared with you, the rawness of his confession, it wasn’t a burden anymore—it was a bridge between you, and you could feel it stretching out before you.

You stood there, a few feet away, and your mind raced, scrambling to find a way to process what had just happened. But no matter how hard you tried to make sense of it, you kept coming back to one thing—Luke. Luke, standing there, his eyes soft, his expression vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. He was no longer just Jack’s younger brother. He was Luke—the boy who had been there for you in every way, without ever asking for anything in return.

It was almost as if, in that moment, you could feel the shift deep inside of you. Everything you had been running from, everything you had been hiding from, came rushing to the surface. You realized, with a sharp clarity, that you had been avoiding him, yes—but you had also been avoiding yourself. Avoiding the truth that had always been right in front of you.

And then, without thinking, without hesitating, you closed the space between you. One step. Then another. The sound of your heartbeat was the loudest thing you could hear, each beat reverberating in your chest, urging you closer. You had no plan, no idea what you were doing, but somehow, in that moment, you knew. You knew you had to stop running.

Your breath caught as you stopped just inches from him, the world narrowing down to the two of you. His presence seemed to envelop you, a warmth that you had once only felt in his friendship, but now… it felt different. It felt like it was pulling you in, like gravity itself had shifted, and the only place you could go was to him.

You raised your hand instinctively, your fingers brushing against his sleeve, and then, without saying a word, your lips met his.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t the wild, impetuous kiss of a first love or an overwhelming rush of emotion. It was something softer, quieter—a hesitant question that had never been asked. You could feel the uncertainty between you both, as if neither of you was sure what this meant, but you both knew you needed it. You needed to close the gap, to answer the question that had hung between you for so long. It was a kiss that felt like the very beginning of something, not a culmination.

But then, as the seconds stretched, as the warmth of his lips against yours seemed to sink deeper into your skin, something shifted. The hesitation melted away. It was like the dam inside you had finally broken, letting all the emotions that had been bottled up for years flow out in one sweeping wave. The kiss deepened, soft and slow, but urgent now—as if you were both finally allowing yourselves to feel everything you had kept locked away. His hand gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get close enough. And you—your hands found their place on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The rhythm matched your own, and it felt like you were syncing with him in a way that was more intimate than anything you had ever known.

In that moment, you felt like you were being seen—not just as the girl who loved Jack, but as yourself. As you—the person Luke had always seen and loved in his quiet, steady way, even when you had been blind to it. It wasn’t just the touch of his lips on yours. It was everything—his patience, his understanding, his willingness to wait for you to finally see him for who he truly was.

When you pulled away, your breath came in short, shaky bursts. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so exposed, so utterly vulnerable. But at the same time, it felt like everything had fallen into place. All the fear, all the doubt—it had evaporated in the warmth of the kiss, leaving only the quiet certainty that this, whatever this was, was real.

You rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling together as you both tried to catch your breath, to come back to reality. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening either. The two of you, standing there in the quiet of the evening, under the pale light of the setting sun, it felt surreal, but it was also exactly where you were meant to be.

Luke’s thumb brushed over your cheek, the motion tender and slow, like he was memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch. He opened his eyes then, looking at you with a depth that made your heart skip a beat. There was no anger in his gaze, no resentment for the years you had spent blind to him. There was only something softer—something more powerful. Something that told you he had always known you would come back to him, even if you didn’t know it yourself.

He let out a shaky breath, the words escaping him quietly, as if he were confessing something deeply private. “I’ve waited so long for you to see me like this. To see me for me.”

The weight of his words landed on you like a soft wave, gentle but impossible to ignore. You hadn’t seen him—not truly. Not until now. But now, in this moment, you could see everything. Every little piece of him that had been hidden in the quiet corners of your heart, waiting for you to wake up.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a second, savoring the feeling of being held, of finally being seen. His words echoed in your mind, and you felt an overwhelming ache in your chest, a deep sense of longing that had always been there but had been buried under years of hesitation, confusion, and missed opportunities.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking as the truth finally tumbled from your lips. “I didn’t know. I should’ve seen you. I should’ve been there. I didn’t…”

He shook his head softly, interrupting you with a quiet smile, the kind that made your heart ache with tenderness. “You’re here now,” he said, his voice full of warmth, of understanding, of everything he had been waiting for. “That’s all that matters.”

And in that moment, you realized that he was right. The past didn’t matter anymore. The things you had missed, the time you had wasted—it didn’t matter, because you were here now. Together.

You took a deep breath, pulling away slightly to look at him. The future was still uncertain—still unknown. But standing here, in the quiet, the world around you seemed to fade. The wind ruffling the trees, the soft murmur of the lake—it all became background noise, insignificant compared to the pull between the two of you.

And when you looked at Luke, you didn’t see Jack’s younger brother anymore. You didn’t see the boy who had been stuck in the shadows of his older brother’s life. You saw Luke—the boy who had always been there, waiting, loving, patient. And for the first time, you were able to see him for who he truly was.

And that was enough. That was more than enough.

The next summer at the lake house felt like a new chapter, a fresh breeze sweeping through the familiar spaces. The house, though unchanged in its appearance, felt different to you—like it had grown, expanded, become something more than it had ever been. The old rhythms were still there. Jack’s easy laugh echoed in the kitchen, Alyssa’s chatter floated through the air, and Quinn’s voice was a steady undercurrent, always with that knowing smile. But there was something new now. Something you couldn’t put into words, something that had shifted in the space between you and Luke, something that made the house feel like a home.

As you walked through the front door, your heart fluttered slightly in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nerves. The familiar scent of the lake, the wood of the house, and the salty air filled your senses. You had missed it all, but it felt different now. You had avoided this place for so long, spent so many months running from it, running from him. And now, standing here, you felt a mix of both vulnerability and relief. You knew what had changed—it was the way you saw Luke now, not just a background figure in your life. He was Luke. And he was everything you had needed and didn’t know you had been waiting for.

When you walked into the living room, your eyes immediately found him. Luke was standing by the window, his broad shoulders relaxed, and that warm smile of his lighting up his face. It was the same smile you had seen a thousand times, but now it felt like it was meant for you, and you couldn’t help but return it. His gaze flickered over to you, and his smile deepened—no longer the shy, almost hesitant grin you had seen before, but a confident, knowing one. He waved, his eyes playful, but there was no longer any hesitation between you. No more distance. No more of the quiet longing that had once been there. Just Luke. Just the two of you.

You found yourself walking toward him, almost instinctively, like you were following some unseen thread that had always been pulling you closer. As you approached, he reached for your hand, slipping his fingers into yours with an ease that felt completely natural. The touch felt right, as though the universe had always intended for you two to be this way.

Jack was sitting on the couch, his arm around Alyssa, and Quinn was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed but with a small, knowing smile on his face. It was as if Quinn could see something in you and Luke that no one else could, like he had been waiting for this moment for years. His smile was subtle, but there was a quiet pride in it, a quiet satisfaction. He knew what this meant. He had watched his younger brother love you from the sidelines, and now, as he looked at the way you and Luke stood together, there was a peace in his eyes. It was as if he had been holding his breath for so long, waiting for Luke’s feelings to be reciprocated, and now, finally, they were.

The evening passed like it always did, with laughter and familiar chatter filling the space. But there was a new dynamic now—one that everyone could feel. Jack, ever the easygoing older brother, noticed the subtle but undeniable shift between you and Luke. He didn’t say anything, but you could see it in his eyes when he caught your gaze—acknowledgment, understanding, and maybe even a little relief. Jack had never been the type to need to understand everything, but he could see what had always been there between you and Luke, and now, seeing the way Luke’s eyes lit up when he looked at you, seeing the way you seemed to belong by his side—it was clear. There was no need for words. The change had come, and it was undeniable.

When the evening wore on and the sun began to dip low over the lake, painting the sky in warm golden hues, you and Luke found yourselves outside. The air had cooled, the breeze soft and comforting, and you both gravitated to the old bench by the water. It was the same bench where so much had unfolded between you in the past, where you had first realized the depth of your feelings, where you had started to see Luke in a new light. It felt almost like fate that you would return here, as if this spot, this place by the water, was the point where everything had started to change.

Luke sat down first, his hand still holding yours, and you followed suit, settling beside him. His arm brushed against yours, and for a moment, the two of you just sat there, letting the quiet wash over you. The soft rustling of the trees, the gentle lapping of the water, the distant call of birds settling in for the night—it was all so familiar, yet now it felt new. The air between you and Luke was filled with an unspoken understanding, a peace that neither of you had ever experienced before. You didn’t need to say anything. You didn’t need to explain the emotions swirling between you, because you both felt them. You were here. Together. And that was enough.

Luke’s hand gently slid into yours, his fingers entwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. You looked over at him, your heart swelling as you realized how far you had come. The awkwardness, the uncertainty, the hesitation—they were all gone now, replaced with something deep and sure. You finally felt like you had arrived, not just at the lake house, but at a place where you could truly be yourself, where you could finally see Luke for who he was and love him the way he had always loved you.

The stars began to twinkle overhead, the sky darkening as the night crept in. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was peaceful. And when you looked over at Luke, you saw him looking up at the sky too, a soft smile on his lips, the glow from the stars reflecting in his eyes.

“I never thought this would happen,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the peaceful sounds of the night. “I didn’t know I was running from the one thing that was right in front of me all along.”

Luke’s eyes met yours then, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re here now,” he said, his voice steady and full of warmth. “And that’s all that matters.”

The words were simple, but they held so much weight. You had been running, yes, but you had stopped now. And in stopping, you had found something more beautiful than you had ever imagined. You had found him. And that was enough.

As you sat there, side by side, under the stars, you realized that everything had come full circle. All the years of missed moments, all the moments of doubt and confusion—they were behind you now. You were finally here, with Luke, where you both belonged. And as the cool breeze ruffled your hair and the distant hum of the night surrounded you, you felt like the world was finally right again.

And from where you sat, you could see Quinn watching from the porch, that small but knowing smile still on his face, as if he knew this moment was a long time coming. Luke had always deserved this. And now, finally, he had it. He had you. And you had him.

In that moment, there was nothing left to do but lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beside you. The world might have been uncertain, but here, with him, you felt more certain than you ever had before. And you knew that, for once, you wouldn’t run anymore. You were right where you were meant to be.

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trashforbarzal · 25 days ago

Text

Beers and Kisses

Foreword: After you dared Quinn to shotgun a beer and discovering that he can actually do it, he makes you do the same.

Note: We’re picking off where we left off. This is officially part 2, meaning Part 1 (500 words) is a MUST read for a full experience, but if you don't want to read it, then you are free to do so 🫡. This is still in reader's POV. <- Previous (Part 1: Beers and Dares)

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Alcohol Consumption (heavy on this), Unprotected Sex (protection, sillies), Drunk sex (not really but they’re tipsy for sure), Semi-Public sex, Praise Kink

Word: 2645 words | Masterlist

Your nerves are on fire because Quinn taunted you. It’s supposed to be you who’ll do that to him. Well, you didn’t even taunt him. You just made him do it with a small bribe, your puppy eyes, which you know he likes. So, taunting you is annoying. Extremely.

“I bet you can’t,” he fucking said with that hot and beautiful smirk of his. If he’s going to taunt you, he should not look hot. The audacity.

Now, you feel his eyes following you while you stomp your way to the fridge. Shivers run down your spine from heavy and burning attention.

Peeking over your shoulder, you find him still leaning on the railing, but now his back is towards it and with his arms crossed over his chest. His chin is tipped down. His hair moves with the slight gust of wind. The lights you’ve placed on the balcony—actually, Quinn set them up for you—casts a warm glow on his skin, creating shadows that only emphasizes his features. Like his cheekbones, his jaw, the muscles on his neck, and his chest.

You can barely see the shine of beer trail that he still hasn’t wiped away, but you see it and it’s trouble. Why is he not wiping it away? If he won’t, you’ll clean it for him with your tongue—

Then he licks his plump bottom lip.

Wow.

Your head is a mess, short-circuiting the moment he grins, one corner of his lips slightly higher than the other. Such a devastating smile.

What are you doing again?

Oh yes, beer.

You huff, exaggeratedly rolling your eyes—making sure he sees it—before you turn away to get the damn beer. You hear his laugh. Despite being annoyed with him, you smile. You love his laugh. It’s one of the pure things you have ever heard.

It feels good to make him laugh.

It takes all of you not to look back. You’ll have to brave his teasing if you do. You can’t do that. You’re proving a point. Snatching the remaining three cans, which are yours that you keep neglecting to drink. You don’t necessarily like beer. You just bought a six pack one time, and it has been sitting for quite a while. Plus, Quinn doesn’t technically drink anymore, but he does from time to time, especially if you offer him to. Every time. He accepts what you offer, making your heart flutter in your chest. He just effortlessly makes you fall in love with him more and more.

You rush to the balcony, only to pause at the threshold, because Quinn is rolling his sleeves, exposing his hairy and lean forearms. Seriously, does he want you to jump him?

“What are you doing?” you ask in a panic.

“The wind feels nice.” His raspy voice sounds lower. Then he undoes the second button of his shirt, exposing more of his pale skin and his chest. Then another. Holy shit.

Your lips part as you long to touch him. Your legs feel like jelly. Your hands are shaking, so you set the cans down on a table. Biting your lip, you try to control your breathing.

He tilts his head a tad, looking at your eyes, down your lips, then back up. How can somebody be so breathtaking? His eyes look at the beer. A small and deep chuckle escapes him, sounding like a lure to your soul.

He says, “That’s cute. You got extra in case you fail?”

He is fucking with you. Isn’t he? But you don’t care anymore. He can tease you all he wants, and you’ll take it. You’ve been taking anything he gives you, especially in bed or the counter or—

Quinn dangles his key over your head. He’s so close that he might be in the inevitable splash zone, because sure, you’ll prove him wrong. You do know how shotgun a beer, but you’re not great with it. Not at all. Maybe you should’ve just made him flip a water bottle instead.

“What are you waiting for, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. Fucking hell.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you offer him your palm. He’s smiling again. Both lips and eyes turn into crescents. Softly, he places his keys on your hand, deliberately touching the skin of your palm. Then he traces his fingers to your wrist, up your forearm, your shoulders. He gives you a firm squeeze before he slides them down the column of your back. He, then, steps back like he didn’t just ignite your blood.

So, you huff. Your cheeks burn as much as your whole body. It’s all because of Quinn. It’s always him.

Taking a deep breath, your hands shaking, you punch a hole into the can. The beer splashes your face and shirt before you take it up your lips. Your attempt is so clumsy compared to Quinn’s, but you do your best. You gulp the bittersweet carbonated liquid without looking at Quinn, because you will choke if you do.

Probably halfway through the can, he crowds you, gripping your hips. That made you look at him. Your mouth fills up as you forget to swallow. How can you when his thumbs slip under your shirt? He pulls you in with an effortless tug, reminding you of his strength, not minding the spilling liquid.

He’s hard. So fucking hard.

And you’re drenching your panties.

Fuck.

Gosh, you hate beer—

Then everything happens all at once.

He fluidly takes over, drinking the beer for you. Once more, you are mesmerized with him. You only remember to swallow the beer in your mouth when his hand reaches your bra. You shiver, feeling so weak. You pant as beer slides down his throat again. You have enough. No more just watching.

You lick the trail; your soft and wet tongue catches the drips.

The feel of his skin, of his Adam’s apple as he gulps, of the rumble when he groans is divine.

You moan at the taste of Quinn mixing with the beer, at his scent, at his short nails scratching softly on your spine like he’s encouraging you to take and do more. And more.

So you do.

You lick up his chin, shuddering at the feel of his scruff on your tongue. You’re directly catching everything he spills and it’s turning you on. Your pussy aches. This isn’t enough. You want more. More of his taste with the fucking beer.

Maybe you like beer after all.

When he finishes the can, he drops it and stares at you, panting, but you’re already there. You lick along the seam of lips. You whine at how soft they are—making him use a lip mask and lip balms have taken fruit. The taste of him. It’s all Quinn. He’s letting you do this and it’s doing it for you. You’re so turned on. When you finally kiss him, he instantly reciprocates. His tongue moves with yours, tasting you too.

Oh. You love him so much that it hurts.

Deep, deep inside.

You whimper, conveying your need. You blindly reach for another can. “More?”

He hums into your lips, his free hand finding your cheek first before taking the can. He gives you one last kiss on the lips. “You drink it first,” he bargains, backing you up until you reach the railings, one leg pushing between yours. “Just like the last.”

“Okay,” you breathlessly say, nodding.

“I’ll hold it.”

“Sure, Q.” You do as he says. Using his key again, creating a mess between you two, he holds the can to your lips, and you drink. Your eyes water. Frustration builds. It’s not the same.

Until Quinn starts to shower you the same treatment you’ve done to him.

His tongue creates a trail of fire that shoots straight to your pussy. You are burning. You ache. Every lick. Every nip. Your head swims from his touch and the beer. You feel light and so fucking horny. You grind against his thigh.

That’s all it takes to turn the bittersweet liquid taste like the sweetest thing in the whole world.

“Tastes so fucking good, my Love, my sweet girl,” he praises. He takes the beer to his lips and drinks but not really. He’s basically letting the beer fall down the corner of his lips. His eyes are telling you, “All for you.”

Grabbing onto his shoulders, you feast on his skin. Maybe you can just drink anything from his skin. Will Quinn let you do that? He’s already doing it with beer. Can you ask for more—

He tugs you back by your hair, his fingers tangling on the roots. What the fuck!

“Quinn,” you whine. “That’s so mean.”

His lips smirk as he draws the last mouthful of beer. The can hits the floor in a clank. To cope, you stare at his throat, wishing to lick it when he gulps, but he doesn’t. He grabs the back of your neck, making you gasp, as he smashes your lips together, transferring the beer to your mouth.

He just did that.

He did.

Quinn Hughes just made you drink from his mouth.

You love every second of it.

“Swallow it. That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he breathes out, making you squeeze your legs and trapping his. “How’s that?” he asks, nipping your lips, as you stare dumbly at him. His hand frees your hair and slides into your pants, into your panties. He groans, sliding his finger along your slick pussy. “So wet.”

“We’re outside,” you say while you grind shamelessly into his touch, unbuttoning his shirt until it’s fully open. You chase after every stroke. He feels so good. You can feel your arousal dripping down your cunt. You dig your nails into his waist. “You’re so hot.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “You’re hot.” His finger teases your pussy, dipping and stretching you. Both of you groan when you squeeze around his fingers. “Wanna fuck you right here.”

“Then do it.”

His pupils almost swallow his irises. The rumble of a growl escapes his throat. The next thing you know is both of your pants are off. One of your legs is over his hip. After he slaps his cock against your aching clit, he sinks into your pussy so smoothly, so easily. The stretch of him makes you roll your eyes, moaning so loudly.

None of you seem to care about the high drop from the balcony—you trust him. Or about the possibility of being seen—they better watch or close their fucking eyes.

None of those matters.

Not when he’s fucking you with a fucked-out expression that’s just for you.

“I love you,” Quinn moan, kissing you as deeply as his thrusts. “You feel divine, my Love.”

Your name spills his lips over and over again. You cling onto his shoulders, your hips moving in a circle that had you both quivering in need, each of your thrust turning choppy and more desperate. His hand goes under your thigh and lifts it so both of your legs are wrapped around him, so you’re all so fucking spread, your arousal drips around his cock, making the lewd sounds of skin slapping louder and louder.

“Quinn,” you whine, biting down on his lip. You sob, “Faster. More. Please. I’m so close. I need to come.”

“I know,” he consoles, changing up the angle of his thrust, perfectly hitting your sensitive spot. “I have you.”

“Mmfuck,” you pant. Your orgasm builds and builds, your thighs quivering and shaking around him. You seek support using his skin, marking his back with your scratches. You suck and kiss and lick a spot just underneath his jaw, totally marking him as your own. “Please, please.”

“Just let go, my Love.” His hand slides between you two and finds your clit. “Come for me.”

He gives it a firm flick and you’re gone. You walls shakes and squeezes around him, your eyes rolling up, as he rides out your orgasm. Fuck, he truly knows how to work you.

When his lips capture yours, his cock still pounding and grinding in that sensitive spot that has every nerve in your body into a haywire. You desperately grip him, too scared at how much higher your pleasure is climbing. You want to run away but you also don’t. You want him to continue until you’re fucked dumb. Like always.

Quinn is saying something but you can’t focus. You feel like you are breaking piece by piece while at the same time being built. It feels like your heart will explode as the pressure deep inside your cunt exponentially increases. You’re fucking losing it.

His hand tips your chin up, forcing you to look at him. He asks, voice dropping further, “Where do you want me?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Quinn,”you grit.

Again, he smirks. He flicks your clit again, making you whimper. “Still so bratty. I know you’re going to come again. It would be bad for you when I stop.”

“No, Q.” You shake your head, pleading against his skin. He chuckles which makes you desperate for his cum. You can feel his cock throb. You know he’s pulling himself back to make you go insane. He always does that. “Inside. I want your cum in my pussy. You said, you have me. Please.”

He doesn’t say anything and only kisses you until you come so hard that you are gushing, making a total mess, until he comes and paints your walls with his hot cum. Every spurt is making you sigh into his mouth before he decides to press gentle kisses all over your face, licking a few beads of sweat on your skin. You preen, leaning all your weight against him.

Your body feels so satiated with his cock still seated inside you, not letting his cum to spill.

Your soul feels so warm and fuzzy for touch of his lips.

Your heart beats with his. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Do you want to finish the last beer?” He asks so quietly as he lifts you.

You shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He takes you and lies you down on the sofa. You hiss as he slides out, his cum dripping from your sensitive entrance, down your other hole, down the sofa. Fuck, you’re going to stain the sofa. Again. Whatever. You’ll make him clean it. It’s his mess.

You watch him put his full attention on your pussy, watch him lick his lips, watch him grip his cock as it twitches. You realize how flush his cheeks are. Not just from fucking you. It’s also from the beer. You know, because that’s a drunken blush. Is he drunk? It can’t be.

“Are you drunk?” You ask, lifting your shirt up so he sees all of you.

His light eyes shoot straight to yours. He lets a second pass before he says, “No.” He for sure is. “Just a bit.”He frowns deep in his thoughts, his eyes getting drawn to your breasts. “Are you?”

“No,” you repeat, smiling and biting your lower lip, “Just a bit.”

Quinn laughs which makes you giggle. You spend a couple of minutes just laughing at your current state. A bit tipsy. Extremely fucked. The thought of it makes you laugh harder. No way, you two just got drunk on what one full can for him plus two beers shared between you. No way.

“This is fun,” he chuckles, climbing over you, slipping his cock in your pussy.

“Quinn. I’m sensitive.” You huff, shivering when he slides his hands under you so he can unclasp your bra.

He helps you out of your shirt so he can cuddle you like that.

“I know…let’s just stay like this,” he says in a silent whisper. “Promise.”

You know that’s a fucking lie.

<- Previous (Part 1: Beers and Dares)

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trashforbarzal · 25 days ago

Text

CRAVE, MATT REMPE.

pairing: !ny rangers¡matt rempe x !pr girl¡reader

summary: forced proximity, coworker paring, fake dating,

description: you’re a personal assistant working behind the scenes in the NHL world — organized, focused, and determined to keep things strictly professional. But when you cross paths with Matt Rempe, everything starts to unravel. What begins as tension and irritation slowly turns into something far more complicated: stolen glances, blurred boundaries, and a possessiveness that neither of you are ready to face.

word count: 7.4k

You meet Matt Rempe for the first time on a Tuesday.

It's raining — not enough to be romantic, just enough to ruin your hair and smear your eyeliner in the reflection of your cracked phone screen. You're fifteen minutes late to the morning media meeting because the subway stalled, your umbrella flipped inside out, and someone spilled iced coffee on your blazer. It's one of those days where everything feels like a dare from the universe.

You burst into the media room at Madison Square Garden with damp shoes and an apology on your lips, and that's when you see him.

Him.

Six-foot-seven. Hockey gear is halfway off. Hair curled damply at the nape of his neck. Legs stretched so long that you're almost offended by them. And his most irritatingly amused expression as he watches you stumble through the door, breathless.

"Oh," he says, eyebrows lifting. "You must be the new PR girl."

You blink—PR girl.

"I'm the media relations coordinator," you correct flatly, trying to shrug off your coat with what's left of your dignity.

He grins, slow and lazy like he's already won something. "That's cute."

Cute.

You seriously consider quitting right then and there.

You don't get far.

Before you can even find a seat, your boss, Richard — salt-and-pepper hair, tired eyes, Mets mug always in hand — waves you over from the head of the table.

"Good, you're here," he says, flipping through a packet of printed media notes. "I need you to focus on Rempe this week."

You blink. "Me?"

Richard nods. "He's a walking headline lately. Fights, interviews, that whole clip of him saying he wants to 'punch the moon' or whatever? It went viral again last night. We need to soften his image. You're going to shadow him for content and prep him for interviews."

You glance over.

Rempe's now poking the sharp end of a pen into a Gatorade bottle. For fun.

You turn back to Richard. "I'm sorry. You want me to clean that up?"

Richard sighs. "He's not as dumb as he looks. But he is chaotic. You'll figure it out. Get him to post something sweet. Please give him a dog, or a grandma, or something. Make him charming."

"Can't we just… let him talk less?"

"Too late," Richard says, flipping the page. "He talks. Make it work."

The next few days are… not smooth. Matt was making everything more challenging for you. First, you try to get him to film a "Day in the Life" TikTok. Second, he misses his Lyft, saying that he got a stained sweater. And then he shows up twenty minutes late, unshaven, wearing mismatched socks and a Shrek hoodie.

"Are you seriously wearing that?" you ask.

He glances down. "What? Shrek's a style icon."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "You're ruining my life."

He smiles, teeth flashing. "C'mon, PR girl. Admit it. You love the chaos."

You do not. Except maybe — just maybe — you do.

Later, when you finally get him to sit down for a short interview clip, he leans forward and goes: "Hi, I'm Matt Rempe, and my favorite pregame ritual is headbutting a locker until I see stars."

You stare at him. He smirks. And then, you roll your eyes for the 60th time just that day.

"I'm kidding," he says, eyes sparkling. "Mostly."

You and Matt don't go very far with the content. You record half of a video with the camera, and as you walk down to your car, you find weird selfies from Rempe on your phone. And on that afternoon, you badge in Richard's office—hair a mess, zero patience.

"I can't do this," you say.

He doesn't look up from his computer. "What happened now?"

"He called me PR Girl again. He refused to stop juggling pucks while I was trying to interview him. He ate two protein bars at once and choked mid-sentence. I had to edit out a Heimlich maneuver."

"Sounds like a productive day."

You glare.

Richard sighs. "Look, I know he's a lot. But he likes you."

You scoff. You cannot believe in that. "He does not."

"He does. I've never seen him listen to anyone, Y/N. And you got him to show up to something that wasn't optional andstay the whole time. That's a miracle in itself."

"He licked the mic, Richard."

"Baby steps."

[...]

On Friday, after practice, you catch him stretching near the edge of the rink. He's sweaty, flushed, laughing at something Trocheck said, and you hate that he still manages to look stupidly good even when he smells like a locker room. That was almost impossible. But there was him.

Strangely handsome.

You approach with your phone already recording.

"Okay, last try," you say, holding it up. "Three questions. Answer them like a professional, and I'll buy you lunch."

His head tilts. "You're bribing me?"

"I'm desperate." You have to say.

He grins. "I'm in."

You hit record.

"What's one thing fans don't know about you?"

He pauses, thoughtful. Then: "I can play the piano. Badly."

You raise an eyebrow. "Seriously?" That could never be serious. He was… Matt Rempe! Matt didn't do cute things. Right?

He shrugs. "A couple of years of lessons when I was a kid. I learned the Titanic song for a girl once. It didn't work."

You laugh — genuinely — and his eyes flicker like he wasn't expecting that sound from you.

"Next question," you say, voice a little softer. "What's something you'd be doing if you weren't playing hockey?"

He hums. "Probably teaching gym class in Saskatoon."

"Saskatoon?"

"Big dreams."

You smile. "Last one. What's your favorite thing about game day?"

There's no pause this time. "The crowd," he says, voice lower now. "It's loud. Messy. Feels like everything matters."

You stop recording—something in the air shifts. You clear your throat. "That was… good. Thank you."

"No problem," he says, and for once, there's no teasing in his tone.

You turn to walk away, grabbing your bag on the floor and ready to go.

"Hey," he calls after you.

You glance back.

He's still sitting, lacing up his shoes now, but his gaze is steady. "You're good at this. The media stuff. The wrangling thing."

You blink. "Thanks."

He grins. "Still gonna call you PR girl, though."

You roll your eyes. But you're smiling as you walk away.

Later that night, Richard texts you.

"Great clip, Y/N! You're onto something. Keep pushing him. Let's make this work.

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard, and then tuck it away without replying. Because for the first time since you took this job, you're not just thinking about how to manage Matt Rempe's image.

You're thinking about him.

The fact that he didn't seem to be the monster that he looked like.

And that? That might be the real problem.

[...]

You don't hear from him for three days.

This is annoying because, technically, you're the one who's supposed to reach out first. You're the one scheduling clips, organizing posts, coordinating with digital, and trying to make the Rangers' wildest rookie seem less like a cryptid who wandered onto the ice by accident and more like an actual human being. But for some reason, ever since that final clip on the edge of the rink — the piano thing, the Saskatoon thing, the look — you've hesitated to press send.

And, of course, that's when your boss decides to show up at your desk.

"Big idea," Richard says, clapping his hands together like you're not drinking coffee out of a chipped Stanley cup and scrolling through Matt's Instagram to see if he's posted another blurry picture of his feet.

You blink. "That's terrifying."

"You and Rempe," he says, ignoring you, "are going off-site."

You stare. "I'm sorry?"

"Media day. But casual. The internet loves authenticity. We're setting up a video shoot in Brooklyn — an ice cream truck, a dog rescue, and a couple of kids from the youth hockey league. You'll be shadowing."

You narrow your eyes. "You want me on camera?"

"No," he says with a dismissive wave. "But you'll be there. And people will see you. Which, frankly, isn't the worst thing. You're sharp. You're organized. You're good with him. I wouldn't mind the internet knowing who's behind his PR glow-up."

You hesitate.

Because it's one thing to be near Matt, it's another to be next to him — under the same lens, the same spotlight, the same curated chaos.

"I'm not trying to be a face of anything," you say carefully.

Richard shrugs. "You're not. But proximity sells. Especially when he looks at you the way he does."

You freeze. "Excuse me?" What was he even talking about?

He arches a brow. "You haven't noticed? He does everything you say to him to do it."

You have. And you don't want to talk about it.

"I'll book the car," you say, standing too fast. "If I'm going to survive a dog shoot with that man, I need caffeine and a sedative."

[...]

The shoot is set on a quiet block in Williamsburg, just off the water. The ice cream truck is painted pale pink. The dogs are chaotic and too cute to be real. And Rempe — God help you — shows up in a navy blue beanie and a soft-looking hoodie that makes him look like the hot guy in a Hallmark movie who fixes antique clocks and only cries once.

You hate him.

"PR girl," he says as he approaches, a dog already climbing up his leg. "Didn't know you were making a cameo."

"It's not a cameo," you say, gently tugging the leash. "It's supervision."

He smirks. "You love babysitting me."

You give him a flat look. "You ate chalk last week because you thought it was candy."

"It was pastel!" he protests. "Who makes candy that isn't edible?"

You open your mouth. Close it again.

"Point is," he adds, smiling widely, "I missed you."

Your stomach does a thing. It's a stupid, fluttery, PR-inappropriate thing.

"Try not to lick anything this time," you mutter.

The cameras start rolling.

It's chaos — but good chaos. Matt holds a Chihuahua in one hand and a vanilla cone in the other. The kids from the hockey league swarm him like he's a giant jungle gym. At one point, someone throws a tennis ball, and four dogs and Matt all chase after it.

You stay off to the side, managing the handlers, the photographer, the digital team — but you notice the way he keeps glancing over at you between takes like he's checking if you're still there.

Like you matter.

And that's… dangerous.

Because this isn't a friendship.

This isn't flirting.

This is work.

And getting close to a player — even Rempe, who seems incapable of subtlety — is not part of your job description.

But then it happens.

You're crouching to help one of the kids tie a skate when someone calls Matt's name, and he turns too fast, tripping over a leash, a cone, and his own ridiculously long legs.

You don't see it coming until he crashes into you.

You land on the sidewalk hard.

And he lands on you.

Full body. Heavy. Hands braced on either side of your head, face inches from yours, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon.

You blink up at him.

He doesn't move.

And neither do you.

Somewhere, a camera clicks.

You hear laughter. Whistles. Someone yells, "GET A ROOM!"

And suddenly — so suddenly — it's not funny at all.

Because his eyes are on yours.

And nothing is teasing in them this time.

"Sorry," he breathes, voice rough.

You shake your head, barely. "It's… okay."

He doesn't move.

You don't ask him to.

[...]

The clip goes viral within three hours.

You're not even back in Manhattan when your phone starts vibrating like it's possessed. The Rangers account posts it with the caption: "Just two people, falling for each other." You want to scream. Or throw up—or both.

By the time you return to your desk, the clip has garnered 2.1 million views, and you are trending.

Not him.

You.

"I'm going to die," you whisper, staring at the screen.

Richard walks by and casually says, "You're welcome."

You turn to him, horrified. "You planned this?"

He shrugs. "Not the fall. But I'm not mad at the result."

"It's inappropriate," you snap. "He's a player. I'm staff."

"You're not kissing him," he says, then pauses. "Yet."

You shoot to your feet. "Richard—"

"Relax," he says, raising both hands. "Just keep it clean. And keep it going. The internet's obsessed. He's finally marketable."

You open your mouth.

Close it again.

Because you know he's right.

And that's what terrifies you most.

That night, your phone buzzes with a message.

Matt Rempe: Still thinking about the fall?

You stare at it.

Please ignore it.

Try to sleep.

Fail.

Because you are thinking about it.

And the worst part?

You don't want to stop.

[...]

You're barely through the doors when you feel him watching you.

The charity gala is precisely the kind of thing you dread — overly formal, stuffed with people who care more about who'sseen supporting the youth hockey program than actually donating to it. You've been prepping for weeks, building storyboards, syncing schedules, and coordinating influencer coverage. But nothing prepared you for what Matt Rempe looks like in a suit.

Or, more specifically, what it feels like when he sees you in a dress.

Because the second your heels hit the marble floor, his eyes find you. And they don't leave.

Not when he's talking to the GM. Not when the team photographer calls for group shots. Not even when one of the donors pats him on the back and says something about "rising stars" and "young blood."

You try to pretend you don't notice.

You fail.

"What are you even doing here?" he murmurs when he finally sidles up next to you at the champagne bar, voice low enough that it makes you shiver. "I thought PR types hated events like this."

"I do," you reply coolly, adjusting your badge. "But someone has to make sure you don't go viral for eating all the hors d'oeuvres."

He grins. "I only did that once."

You arch a brow. "You stole a shrimp tower."

"I rescued it."

"From a child."

"She didn't even like seafood!"

You roll your eyes and sip your champagne.

"You look nice," he adds after a beat. It's casual, almost throwaway — but the way he says it makes something hot bloom low in your stomach.

You glance over at him. "Thanks."

"Like, really nice."

You narrow your eyes. "Are you flirting with me at a team-sponsored event?"

He shrugs. "I flirt with you everywhere."

You nearly choked on your drink.

The situation worsens when the press arrives.

There's a freelance reporter — tall, polished, confident — who sidles up to you near the silent auction table and immediately starts laying it on thick.

"You handle the Rangers' social?" he asks, leaning a little too close. "That explains the tone shift. It's gotten sharper. Funnier."

You shrug modestly. "We're trying new things."

"Like the Rempe stuff," he says, smirking. "Smart angle. He's the goofy rookie with a PR handler who dislikes him. It's got tension."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

He grins. "It's obvious. You're always trying not to smile in the videos. Feels kind of charged."

You step back, heart racing. "We're professionals."

"Sure," he says, clearly not buying it. "But the internet's rooting for you. I mean, the fall? The way he looks at you? Come on."

You're about to snap when a hand lands on your waist.

And not just any hand.

Matt.

"You okay?" he says, looking only at you. His voice is low. Firm. Different.

You nod.

The reporter raises an eyebrow, amused. "Speak of the devil."

"Funny," Matt says, not smiling. "Didn't realize this was an interrogation."

"Just a conversation," the guy replies, unbothered. "But maybe I'll circle back."

He walks away. You exhale.

Matt doesn't move his hand.

"You didn't have to do that," you say, avoiding his gaze.

"I know," he says softly. "But I wanted to."

You finally look at him, and what you see makes your stomach flip.

Because for the first time, it feels like the flirting isn't a joke.

It's something else.

Something real.

You don't leave together. You don't even talk much after that. But when the storm hits Manhattan just past midnight and all the bridges close, you realize two things.

One: You're stuck in the gala hotel.

And two: so is Matt.

You find him in the lobby, hair damp, jacket slung over one shoulder.

"We're snowed in," you announce, stating the obvious.

He looks up. "Yeah."

"We're not allowed to leave."

"I noticed."

You hesitate. Then: "Do you have a room?"

He nods slowly. "Do you?"

You do. But it's a double. And it's cold. And you're too wired to sleep.

So when he says, "Wanna hang out until the power comes back?" — you nod.

And follow him upstairs.

His room is dim, lit only by the warm yellow glow of a desk lamp. He pulls off his jacket and throws it on the bed. You hover awkwardly by the window, watching the snow swirl.

"I can sleep on the chair," he says.

You turn. "What?"

He nods toward the armchair by the TV. "If it comes to that."

"I'm not staying the night."

He grins. "Sure you're not."

You scowl, but your cheeks go warm.

He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. For a moment, the only sound is the wind outside and your heartbeat inside your ears.

"I meant it, by the way," he says quietly. "What I said earlier."

You blink. "Which part?"

"You look nice. And that I missed you."

Something in your chest tightens.

"You don't even know me," you whisper.

He stands.

Steps closer.

"I know you don't let people in easily," he says. "I know you're too smart for half the idiots in this building. I know you roll your eyes when you're flustered. And I know the only reason you're pretending not to like me is because you think it's safer that way."

Your breath catches.

"I'm not trying to make this complicated," he adds. "But it already is. So, if you want me to back off, say the word. But if you don't…"

He doesn't finish, and you don't need him to. Because you're already stepping forward, and for one heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Then, suddenly — finally — he does.

And the distance between you disappears.

[...]

You wake to the sound of silence.

Not the sterile kind that fills your apartment after a long day. This is something softer. Sleep-heavy. Still. The type of quiet you don't notice until you've been wrapped in it for a while.

Your eyes blink open slowly. The room is pale, with morning light filtering through thick snow-draped curtains. For a second, you're disoriented. This isn't your bed. This isn't even your hotel room. It's—

Your head turns.

Matt.

He's on the other side of the bed, turned slightly toward you, one arm bent beneath the pillow, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheek. His mouth is parted just a little. His hair's a mess — flattened on one side, ruffled on the other — and his long legs are tangled in the comforter.

He looks peaceful.

You don't.

Because the second your brain catches up, everything from last night crashes over you like a wave.

The gala. The flirting. The hand on your waist. The room. The way he looked at you like you were the only person on the planet.

You didn't sleep together — not in that way.

But you'd shared a bed.

And the intimacy of it somehow feels more dangerous than anything physical ever could.

You sit up slowly, carefully, trying not to disturb him. Your feet hit the carpet. You tiptoe to the window, and the snow hasn't let up. Manhattan is a postcard in grayscale — all blurred edges and icy stillness. You let your forehead rest against the cold glass.

You should leave. You should go back to your room, drink the bad hotel coffee, and put all of this into a box labeled 'mistake.' But then you hear the sheets shift.

You turn.

"Hey."

Matt's voice is low and rough from sleep. He squints at you, then rubs a hand over his face. "You okay?"

You nod. "Yeah. I just… woke up early."

He sits up, the blanket pooling at his waist. His bare chest is broad and freckled and unfairly distracting. He stretches his arms over his head with a groan.

"Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to take over the whole bed."

"You didn't."

He looks at you for a moment.

And just like last night — and the night before that, and every time he's gotten too close — it feels like the air shifts.

He runs a hand through his hair. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're lying."

You roll your eyes, but you're too tired to fight him. "I just… don't know what this is."

His expression softens. "It doesn't have to be anything. Not yet."

You stare at him. "But it feels like something."

"Yeah," he says. "It does."

There's a long pause.

And then, quietly: "I'm not gonna push you. I know this is complicated. Work, and optics, and… us. But I meant what I said last night."

You feel your heart climb slowly into your throat.

"I like you," he says.

And somehow, that's the most terrifying thing of all.

Later that day, the snow starts to melt, but your sense of control doesn't.

You'd made it back to your room. Showered. Dressed and gathered yourself like armor. You even slipped Matt a sheepish "thanks for not kicking me out" text before heading back to the arena.

By the time you're at your desk, you've almost convinced yourself that maybe—maybe—no one will find out.

And then it happens. You're staring at your inbox when your phone buzzes once.

Tracy (Social team)

— omg, have you seen this???

Attached is a video. Shaky, dimly lit. Filmed from across the hotel lobby.

You hit play.

And freeze.

It's you and Matt from last night. You're standing too close. He's got his hand on your lower back. You're laughing—not professionally, not distantly. Softly. Like you're used to him touching you like that.

Which you're not.

But the video doesn't care about the truth.

It ends with the two of you stepping into the elevator. Alone.

Tracy

— girl, it's going viral on hockey Twitter

— "Enemies to lovers, snowed-in edition" LMAO

Your blood turns to ice. Seconds later, your office door opens.

Your boss steps in — tablet in hand, expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," she says.

[...]

The meeting isn't a disaster. But it's close.

They don't accuse you of anything directly. Just ask a lot of questions — about professionalism, boundaries, and player access. You answer carefully, voice even, nails digging crescents into your palm under the table.

You explain that nothing inappropriate happened. You explain that you were snowed in. You explain that, yes, maybe there's chemistry, but you've done nothing to compromise the integrity of your role.

They don't say you're fired. But they do say this:

"We need to get ahead of it."

This is how you end up in Matt's apartment that evening, pacing in front of his kitchen island while he watches you like you're about to detonate.

"So let me get this straight," he says. "They want us to pretend we're dating. To explain the video."

You nod. "Just for a few weeks. Until the story cools down."

He blinks. "But we're not dating."

"Obviously."

"Yet," he mutters.

You pretend not to hear him.

He leans against the counter. "So what's the plan? Just hold hands at games and pretend we're each other's favorite people?"

You give him a look. "You already are my least favorite person. That part will be easy."

He grins. "You sure about that?"

You don't answer.

Because you're no longer sure about anything.

Except for this: the more time you spend with Matt Rempe, the harder it's getting to remember what you're supposed to be pretending.

[...]

It starts with your hand in his.

Not for any real reason — not at first. Just that you're getting out of the Uber together, and there are photographers outside the foundation gala venue, and Matt turns to you with a look like Ready? And you, despite every nerve screaming otherwise, nod back.

And then he takes your hand.

And doesn't let go.

The sidewalk is slick with leftover snowmelt. The cameras start flashing as soon as the two of you step into the light. You know, the moment the shutter clicks that, it'll be everywhere by morning.

Rempe. And the team's media manager. Hand in hand.

You tell yourself it's a strategy. Optics. It's a clean narrative.

But that doesn't explain the warmth of his palm against yours. Or the way his thumb brushes yours when he thinks no one's looking.

It doesn't explain why your heart stutters when he leans in to whisper in your ear.

"You okay?"

You glance up. He's in a suit. Navy. Perfectly fitted. A tie that matches your dress — coordinated because the PR team insisted you look "believably coupled." He smells like cedarwood and sharp winter air and something distinctly Matt.

"Yeah," you breathe. "Just a little overwhelmed."

He squeezes your hand gently. "You look beautiful."

You blink. That wasn't part of the script.

"Thanks," you say because it's the only thing you can think of that won't give you away completely.

The event itself is a blur.

There are sponsors and speeches and passed hors d'oeuvres, and every time you drift more than a foot from Matt, someone catches your eye with a knowing look. You're suddenly no longer the quiet girl behind the camera or the press release. You're his date.

You.

The most frustrating man you've ever met is now holding open doors for you, getting you champagne, and resting his hand on the small of your back like it's always belonged there.

You're too busy pretending to be in love to realize how natural it feels.

Until the photo.

It's taken near the end of the night against a branded backdrop. One of the foundation's social team members calls you both over.

"You two look amazing," she says. "Give us something sweet. Come on — just one for the team!"

You freeze.

Matt doesn't.

Without hesitation, he steps behind you, hands resting lightly on your waist. You tense as he leans in, but instead of kissing your cheek like you expect, he whispers into your hair.

"This okay?"

Your throat is dry. "Yeah."

You don't look at the camera. You feel him smile against your temple.

Later, you see the photo.

It's devastating.

You're tucked into his chest, both of you slightly out of focus behind a shimmer of falling snow. He's looking at you like you hung the stars. You're looking at nothing — stunned, maybe, by how easy it is to forget what's real.

Or by how badly you want it to be.

Later in his apartment, you're barefoot in his kitchen, holding a glass of water as if it might anchor you. The dress is off. His tie is draped on the couch. And neither of you has said a word in fifteen minutes.

It's not awkward. It's not quite comfortable, either. It's something else — the space between rehearsed affection and something you can't name yet.

Matt breaks the silence first.

"You were amazing tonight."

You glance over your shoulder. "So were you."

He leans against the doorframe. "I didn't hate pretending."

You look away. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Say things like that. It's not fair."

He doesn't move. "It's not pretend for me."

Your breath catches.

"Matt…"

He steps closer, slowly, as if you're something fragile. "I don't care about the cameras. Or the stories. Or what anyone thinks. I just… I like being with you even when we're arguing. Even when you glare at me like I'm the worst person alive."

"You are," you whisper, but your voice is trembling.

He smiles. "Then I guess I'm your problem."

His hand brushes your arm. You close your eyes. "Say something," he says.

You turn to face him. And for once, you don't have anything to say.

So you kiss him.

It's not fireworks or slow-motion magic. It's messy, honest, and a little desperate. It's like you've been holding it back for too long and finally let it slip through the cracks. He kisses you back like he's been waiting. One hand at your waist. The other is in your hair. He kisses you like he's not acting anymore.

Because he isn't.

Neither are you.

When you break apart, he doesn't say anything.

You don't know how long you stand there, forehead to forehead, letting the silence hum between you like it's trying to say something neither of you can.

Your lips still tingle. Your heart won't settle. Matt's breath ghosts across your skin, and suddenly, the space between pretending and something real disappears completely.

He's the one who leans in again, and this time, you don't hesitate.

You kiss him like you mean it now. No script. No audience. Just you and him in his dimly lit kitchen, your dress hanging off a chair, his tie forgotten, and the tension that's been building for weeks finally breaking open.

His mouth is soft but hungry like he's trying to memorize every part of this. Of you.

You drop the water glass on the counter without looking. It lands with a soft clink that neither of you notices. All you feel are his hands — one curling around your waist, the other sliding up your back, fingers splaying across your spine like he needs to keep you close or he might lose you.

You press into him without thinking.

Your body fits against his like it's meant to. He's tall — too tall — and you're always a little aware of it, but here, now, it doesn't matter. You like the way you have to tiptoe to meet his mouth. You want him to bend to reach you as if it's second nature.

His hands skim the edge of your ribs.

You gasp — barely — and feel him pause.

You pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are heavy, his jaw clenched, and he's breathing like it's taking everything in him to stay in place.

"Is this okay?" he asks, voice low, rough around the edges.

You nod.

Then, because you want to be sure he knows, you say, "Yeah. It's more than okay."

The smile that pulls at his mouth is crooked and boyish, a little stunned as if he can't believe this is happening. You can't, either.

His lips find yours again, more deliberate now. He kisses like he thinks this might be the last time — like he doesn't want to waste a second of it. The kitchen counter digs into your hip. Your hands slip under the hem of his button-down. His skin is warm and solid, and he shudders when your fingertips drag across his stomach.

You feel him tense.

Then he pulls away, just barely, and looks at you. Not down at your mouth or your body, at you.

"Do you wanna go to my room?"

It's not rushed. Not cocky. Just quiet. Honest.

You could say no. You know he'd back off in an instant. But you also know this isn't just about tonight. Not really. It's about all the almosts. All the things you haven't let yourself want until now.

You reach up, slide your hand into his hair, and whisper, "Yeah."

He kisses you like thank you.

He doesn't rush.

That's the first thing that surprises you.

For a guy who usually barrels into everything like he's too big for the world — too loud, too impulsive, too much — Matt is soft here. Careful. Patient.

He shoves you backward until your spine hits the door, and you don't even flinch — your fingers already tugging at the collar of his shirt, frantic to get him bare. But he's faster.

Matt grabs your wrists with one hand and pins them over your head, holding them there like it's nothing. You gasp, breath catching in your throat.

You step into his room and barely have time to take in the simple, masculine chaos of it — dark sheets, one lamp on, a worn Rangers hoodie on the back of the chair — before he turns to face you.

And then you're kissing again. But this time, it's deeper. Messier.

His mouth slants over yours with a hunger that's been simmering for weeks. You feel it in the way he breathes, in the way he fists the back of your dress and pulls you in like he's starving.

Your hands go to his chest, then lower, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, yanking it out of his pants. His skin is warm under your palms, a mix of hard muscle and softness in all the places you had imagined.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing and tosses you on the bed. Your back bounces against the mattress, legs falling open without hesitation. He stares down at you — messy, panting, wet — like he's starving and just found his fucking feast.

You groan against his mouth when he bites your bottom lip.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his jaw tight, voice low and wrecked:

"Tell me to stop, and I will."

"I don't want you to," you breathe, and then he's on you again.

You feel it in the way his hands finally touch you, like he means it — one sliding up the back of your thigh, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. He walks you backward until your knees hit the bed, and then he's kissing down your neck, sucking marks into the skin like he's claiming you.

"Fuck," he mutters into your collarbone, voice thick. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

You do it because you've wanted it, too.

You moan when his hands tug at the zipper on your dress, and he pauses, just for a second, to look at you again.

"You sure?"

Your answer is a breathless "Yes. Matt. Please."

He swears under his breath as the dress hits the floor. And when his eyes rake over you — bare skin, underwear, all of you laid out and open in front of him — his breath catches like he's never seen anything so fucking perfect in his life.

"Jesus," he says, stepping closer. "You're gonna ruin me."

You tug him toward you by the waistband of his pants.

"Then let me."

His kiss is punishing. Teeth. Tongue. Possession.

"Fuck, I knew you'd be like this," he growls, mouth dragging down your neck. "All bratty and loud until I get my hands on you."

"Matt—" you whimper.

He smirks darkly. "Still got something to say, baby?"

"Take that shit off," he says, voice low. "Now."

You scramble to obey, peeling off your top. You're left in nothing but your panties — soaked through — and he groans when he sees the wet spot.

"Look at you," he mutters, dropping his jeans. His cock springs out, thick and hard and already leaking. "You're fuckin' dripping for me, and I haven't even touched you yet."

Your mouth goes dry.

He kneels between your legs and drags your panties down with one hand, the other already sliding up your inner thigh. His fingers brush over your slit, and his grin turns cruel.

"This wet for me already?" he says, pushing two fingers in without warning.

You cry out, hips jerking — but he doesn't slow down.

Matt pumps them hard, deep, curling them inside you like he's trying to make you scream. Your hands fist the sheets. He watches every twitch of your body like a man possessed.

"Fuckin' knew it," he mutters. "Knew you'd take my fingers so pretty. Bet your pussy's even better."

You're already spiraling, moaning, back-arching. But right before you come, he pulls his fingers out.

"No—Matt—!"

He grabs your jaw with his wet hand, squeezing your cheeks until your lips part.

"Open."

You do without thinking, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth.

"Taste yourself."

You moan around him, licking eagerly, and his eyes roll back like he's losing it.

"Jesus Christ."

He jerks your legs wider and lines up his cock without warning — not even grabbing a condom. And for a second, you blink.

"Wait—Matt—"

He pauses, eyes flashing. "You on the pill?"

You nod, barely able to breathe. "Yes."

"Good," he mutters. "Because I'm not fucking pulling out."

And then he slams into you.

You scream — not from pain, but from the stretch, the force, the overwhelming fullness. He's big, but more than that, he's brutal. He doesn't give you time to adjust. Don't ask if you're okay. He just fucks into you like he owns you.

"God, yes—fuck—Matt—"

"You like that?" he pants, one hand grabbing your hip so tight you'll feel it tomorrow. "Like getting your cunt ruined by me?"

You can't even speak. You nod, crying out with every thrust.

He fucks you hard and fast, grinding so deep your legs go numb. His hips smack into yours, the headboard slamming the wall in rhythm. Your nails rake down his back, your moans getting louder, rougher.

He growls, low and primal.

"Say it," he snaps. "Say whose pussy this is."

"Yours," you whimper. "Yours, Matt—!"

"Say my fucking name when I fuck you."

"Matt—fuck—Matt—please—!"

You're seconds from falling apart when—

Your phone rings.

Shrill. Loud. The vibration buzzed across the nightstand. You freeze. Matt doesn't stop. He grins and leans down, biting your lip as he grinds in deeper.

"Answer it."

"What—?"

He thrusts again, harder.

"Fucking answer it."

You fumble for the phone with shaking hands, your vision going blurry from pleasure. The screen flashes:

"Richard (Office)"

Your boss. You look at Matt, panic rising.

He slows but stays deep inside you, not backing off an inch. "Put it on speaker," he orders.

"Matt—"

"You wanna come, baby?" he breathes against your neck. "Then you're gonna answer it. While I fuck you."

You're soaked, trembling, lightheaded from the way he fills you — and you know you'll say yes to anything he says—your thumb slides over the screen.

"Hello?"

Richard's voice comes through, sharp and tired. "I've been trying to reach you for the past hour. We have a problem with the roster for tomorrow—"

Matt thrusts deep. You gasp.

Frank pauses. "Are you—okay?"

You force a breath. "Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. I—uh—was asleep."

Matt fucks into you again — hard — and you bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

Frank sighs. "We need you to resend the updated sponsor deck tonight. Can you handle that or not?"

Matt grabs your throat, not choking, just holding you there, and you can barely think.

"I—yes," you stammer, breath hitching. "I'll send it in twenty."

"Good."

He hangs up.

Matt doesn't even let the call finish clicking off before he pulls out and flips you over like you're nothing, dragging your hips back until your face is pressed into the sheets and your ass is in the air.

"Twenty minutes," he growls, lining up again. "Guess I better make this quick."

He slams into you from behind, and you swear you see stars.

You can't even breathe. He's fucking you like an animal now, grip bruising, pace vicious, filthy praise spilling from his mouth.

"Such a fuckin' good girl," he pants. "Letting me use you while your boss is on the phone. Letting me ruin your fucking cunt. You love it, don't you?"

"Yes—Matt—fuck yes—!"

Your orgasm hits so hard that your vision goes black.

You scream his name, your whole body shaking, and he doesn't stop — he keeps going until you're sobbing, overstimulating, and twitching. And then he comes.

With a growl, Matt slams into you and stills, cock pulsing deep inside, filling you up. He stays there, breath heavy on your neck, hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go.

Neither do you.

You don't rush out of Matt's room. You don't bolt for the door like you're trying to escape some mistake because this wasn't a mistake. Not even close.

Instead, you lie there for a long moment, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his steady breaths. The bed dips where he's still half on top of you, warm and heavy, his fingers tracing lazy, featherlight patterns along your spine as if memorizing every inch of your skin.

The silence between you feels like an electric current — thick, potent, and humming louder than any words could be. It's not awkward. It's not uncertain. It's just this — two people tangled in a moment that's theirs and theirs alone.

You lift your head to look at him, the way the soft light casts shadows over his jaw, the slight curl of his mouth when he catches your gaze. His eyes—dark, raw, unguarded—hold a kind of fire that makes your stomach flutter and ache all at once.

"Not running," he says quietly, his voice low and rough from what you just did to each other.

You smile, breathless. "No. Not running."

He presses a kiss to your temple, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking gently. It's a touch so different from the roughness before, soft and careful, like he's holding something precious — you.

You close your eyes and lean into it.

For a while, you stay there, wrapped up in the aftershocks of everything that happened. The way his skin feels against yours, the lingering heat in your veins, the slow fade of that wild, rough hunger giving way to a quiet, intimate calm.

Matt's lips find yours again, softer now, almost hesitant, like he's discovering a new language. You melt against him, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until there's no space left between you.

"You good?" he asks after a moment, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod. "Yeah. Better than good."

He grins that crooked, dangerous grin that made your knees weak earlier. "Good. 'Cause this?" He gestures between the two of you, the messy sheets, the way your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, finally found. "This isn't a one-time thing."

You laugh softly, breath hitching. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He sits back just enough to look at you properly, eyes sharp but warm. "I mean it. You're not just some girl I fucked and forgot about. You're mine"

You feel that. The weight of it. The promise wrapped in those words.

"Neither are you," you admit, heart pounding with how real it all feels.

Matt reaches over to the bedside table, grabs his shirt, and starts pulling it on without a word. You follow suit, slowly slipping back into your clothes, still savoring the lingering heat between your legs, the ache that's both delicious and familiar now.

As you stand to leave, Matt catches your wrist, tugging you back down beside him.

"Wait," he says, voice low and serious.

You look at him, curious. He leans in close, so close you can feel his breath against your skin.

"I want you. Not just tonight." His hand tightens slightly on your wrist. "More. You get that? I want you since the first time I saw you."

You nod again, the words caught in your throat.

"Good."

And with that, he presses a rough kiss to your neck, then lets you go. You step out into the hallway, the cool air hitting your skin like a shock after the heat of his room. You don't look back.

Because you don't have to, Matt Rempe just made it very clear — you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

364 notes · View notes

trashforbarzal · 26 days ago

Text

NO BABYSITTER NEEDED | LN4

an: i have this delusion that i could 100% change his bad habits because i work as a personal assistant and have experience in childcare. so enjoy this. also if you struggle with mental health, always know im here to talk <3

summary: lando norris, f1 golden boy who hasn’t slept properly in months and lives off protein bars gets assigned a carer by max who reminds him to eat, sleep, and maybe feel something other than anger or guilt. she brings flowers into his sterile flat and hides his gym clothes so he’ll actually rest and he lets her. and somewhere between her gummy vitamins and his races, he realises he doesn’t just need her, he wants her too.

wc: 10k

“ABSOLUTLEY NOT.”

Lando stood in the middle of his sparsely furnished flat, arms folded, jaw tight. The overhead light flickered once, as if in protest too. Max, seated on the battered grey sofa with a cup of tea he’d made himself, simply raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve not eaten today, have you?”

“I had a protein bar.”

“That doesn’t count, mate.”

Lando’s eyes flicked to the side. He knew Max was right. The protein bar had been from the stash he kept in his gym bag, a dry, tasteless thing that barely passed as food. Still, admitting that would mean giving ground, and he wasn’t in the mood.

“I don’t need a bloody babysitter,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “I’m not eighty-five.”

Max sighed, setting down his tea with the sort of calm that only long-suffering best mates could master. “She’s not a babysitter. She’s… a carer. Technically.”

“Oh, brilliant. Even worse.”

The silence that settled wasn’t comfortable. Outside, the steady hum of Monaco traffic drifted through the slightly ajar window. Somewhere below, someone shouted about bin day. Lando raked a hand through his curly brown hair and paced towards the kitchen. Max didn’t need to follow him to know what he’d find.

The fridge opened with a creak. Lando grimaced. A carton of milk two weeks out of date. Half a wilted bag of spinach. One lonely caprisun.

“See?” Max called from the living room. “You need someone to help.”

Lando shut the fridge, harder than he needed to. “I’m not broken.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you’re not exactly in one piece either.”

That one landed. He leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly. His eyes were tired, darker than usual, with the tell-tale puffiness that came from pushing through sleepless nights. After a bad race, it was always the same: the silence, the self-punishment, the long hours in the gym until his arms shook, or the empty buzz of late-night gaming until sunrise blurred into morning.

Lando wasn’t cruel, not to others. But he was brutal to himself.

Max stepped into the kitchen, soft-footed. He opened the cupboard, plucked a cereal bar, and tossed it to Lando. “Just give her a week. One week. If it’s hell, I’ll back off. You can go back to forgetting to eat and dying slowly. Deal?”

Lando caught the bar, didn’t unwrap it. He stared at it like it might explode. After a long moment, he gave a non-committal grunt.

“Fine,” he said at last, eyes flicking up. “But just a week.”

The doorbell rang at exactly ten o'clock.

Lando was on the sofa, one leg slung over the other, arms crossed, face unreadable. He hadn't shaved that morning. Or the one before, probably. Max, already halfway to the door, shot him a look.

“Try to smile, yeah?” he muttered.

Lando didn't answer. Max opened the door.

“Hiya,” came a warm, bright voice. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure which buzzer it was. I guessed.”

“You guessed right.” Max smiled, stepping aside. “Come in.”

She stepped over the threshold with a kind of lightness Lando noticed but didn’t comment on. Trainers, jeans, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. She didn’t look like a carer, whatever that meant. But then again, what did he expect? A clipboard and scrubs?

Her eyes flicked to him on the sofa and lit up with a friendly smile.

“You must be Lando.”

“I must be,” he said, dryly.

Max shot him a warning look. She didn’t seem fazed, though. Just walked in like it wasn’t a battlefield.

“I’m here for the trial week,” she said cheerfully, pulling out a small notebook. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take over your life. Just nudge it in a slightly healthier direction.”

Lando snorted. “Great. Can’t wait to be nudged.”

Max coughed to hide a laugh.

She sat on the armchair across from him, perching rather than settling, like she didn’t want to assume too much. Lando appreciated that. A bit.

“So,” she said, flipping open the notebook. “What’s your usual routine, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Train. Race. Gym. Repeat.”

“And food?”

He shrugged. “When I remember.”

“Sleep?”

Another shrug. “When I can.”

She smiled, scribbling something down. “Right. Noted.”

Lando tilted his head. “You’re very… upbeat.”

“Would you rather I was miserable?”

“No, just…” He waved a vague hand. “You’re in a flat with a stranger who clearly doesn’t want you here. I’d be a bit put off.”

“Well,” she said, closing the notebook, “I’m not easily put off. And you don’t scare me.”

That surprised a breath of laughter out of him, more exhale than anything, but it was the closest he’d come to smiling in days. Max looked between them, pleased.

“She’s good,” he said to Lando. “Give her a day. You’ll be grateful by tonight.”

Lando leaned his head back on the sofa, eyes half-closing. “We’ll see.”

She stood up. “I’ll pop to the shop, then. I’m sure the fridge is crying for help.”

Max dug into his pocket, handed her twenty euros. “Get whatever you think he won’t argue about eating.”

“Right,” she grinned. “Crisps and biscuits, got it.”

She left with a wink. Lando opened one eye, watching her go. Max gave him a look that was both smug and fond.

“You like her.”

Lando didn’t reply.

But he didn’t protest, either.

He didn’t last long after Max left.

He didn’t announce it, didn’t say goodbye, just grabbed his keys, mumbled something about “needing air” and left her alone in the flat. It wasn’t meant to be rude, not really. He just didn’t know what to do with her being there, so full of smiles and softness and trying. It made his skin itch in a way he couldn’t explain.

So, he went to the gym. Again. Even though his arms still ached from last night. Even though he’d barely slept. He didn’t care. Pushing himself until the edges blurred was easier than sitting in silence with a stranger who was supposed to fix what he wouldn’t admit was broken.

He stayed out longer than he planned. Took the long way home. Wandered a bit, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the fading light. He even stopped off at the corner shop and bought a bottle of water he didn’t want, just to delay the inevitable.

But eventually, the sun started dipping below the Monegasque skyline, and he had no more excuses.

When he opened the door, he paused.

The flat looked different.

Not massively, not like she’d moved furniture or painted walls, but nicer. The blinds had been tugged all the way open, letting the warm orange light of evening spill in. The windows had been cracked open too, letting out the stuffy, lived-in gym-sweat air he’d become nose-blind to. On the kitchen counter sat a small bunch of flowers in an old pint glass, cheap daffodils, probably from the shop down the road, bright yellow and unapologetically cheerful.

And she was cooking.

He blinked.

She hadn’t heard him come in. She had music playing quietly from her phone and she was humming under her breath as she stirred something on the hob. She’d tied her hair up, sleeves rolled, apron on that definitely wasn’t his.

He hovered at the doorway like a ghost.

“I won’t eat fish,” he said, voice flat.

She jumped slightly, then turned to him with a grin, unbothered. “Good thing I’m not making fish then.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I know,” she added, casually flipping something in the pan. “And you don’t like raw tomatoes. Or coconut. Or mushrooms unless they’re chopped so small you can’t see them. I did my homework.”

He folded his arms, suspicious despite himself. “Homework?”

“Max told me what he could, and the rest I found in old interviews. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

He had no idea what to do with that. “Right.”

She nodded towards the side counter. “There are some vitamins over there if you fancy. They’re the gummy ones, so they’re fun to eat.”

Lando turned his head slightly. Sure enough, there was a bottle of multivitamin gummies sitting next to a clean glass of water. He squinted at it like it might bite.

“You think that’s going to fix me?”

“Nope,” she said, flipping off the hob and plating something. “But you’ll taste strawberry and get a vitamin boost, and that’s two good things. Two’s better than none.”

He watched her carry the plate to the table, proper food, he realised. Real stuff. A bit of grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, some sort of green that didn’t look like it came from a packet. She’d even set out cutlery.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered, but his voice had less edge than before.

“No, but your fridge did. Loudly.” She smiled. “Sit down, Lando.”

It was the first time she’d said his name. It startled him, how easily it came out of her mouth, no weight, no judgement, just lightness.

He didn’t move right away. But the flat smelled warm for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. It smelled like food, and flowers, and something gentle he couldn’t place.

Eventually, he sat.

And he took the bloody vitamin.

He started eating without saying much, though to be fair, the food shut him up quickly. It was annoyingly good. Not fancy, not trying too hard, just cooked well. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the first bite, and now his fork barely paused between mouthfuls.

While he ate, she moved around the kitchen, wiping down surfaces that were already pretty clean, rinsing the chopping board, putting away the little packet of daffodils that had come with the flowers. She was humming again, soft and almost tuneless, like it was more for her than anything else.

He watched her from the corner of his eye.

After a few minutes, he frowned.

“What about you?” he said, voice low. “Are you not going to eat?”

She looked up from where she was drying a mug. “I eat after work.”

He stopped chewing. “That’s weird.”

She laughed, not offended. “Not really. I’m used to it. I don’t like eating in other people’s homes unless I’m invited to.”

“Well… I’m inviting you now.”

Her eyes softened a little. “Thanks. But I’m alright, honestly.”

He stabbed a bit of potato. “Can you at least sit? You’re making me feel like I’m in a restaurant.”

That seemed to surprise her. She blinked, then nodded, pulling out the chair opposite him.

“You’re on edge,” she said gently, not like she was accusing him, just stating it.

He didn’t deny it.

She leaned back in the chair, folding her hands on the table, not trying to fill the silence with too much. Just being there. He hated how much of a relief that was.

After a beat, she tilted her head. “So… do you actually enjoy racing? Or is it just something you’re brilliant at?”

He looked up, fork halfway to his mouth.

“No one’s ever asked it like that before.”

She smiled. “Well, everyone knows you’re brilliant at it. But enjoying it that’s something else.”

He chewed, swallowed, shrugged. “I used to. When I was a kid. I’d sit in front of the telly with my dad and pretend I could hear the engines. I used to think the drivers were invincible.”

Her smile didn’t fade, but it did soften into something more thoughtful. “And now?”

“Now I know they’re not,” he said simply. “Now I know I’m not.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Didn’t rush to fix it or tell him he was, in fact, invincible. Just let it sit there.

He liked that more than he expected.

“You know,” she said after a quiet moment, “I watched last year's Brazil race before I came. The one where it rained.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “That bloody race.”

He didn't think of it fondly, until she spoke again.

“You made that turn like it was nothing. Everyone else looked like they were wrestling their cars, and you just… glided.”

He looked at her properly for the first time that evening. “You watched it for research?”

She nodded. “Had to see what I was dealing with.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re very strange.”

“Thank you,” she grinned. “I take that as a compliment.”

He picked up the glass of water next to his empty plate, holding it in both hands. He didn’t know how to name the feeling in his chest, tight and loose at once. Like something had shifted half a centimetre to the right.

He didn’t say thank you.

But he didn’t ask her to leave, either.

The flat had gone quiet again and before he knew it, he’d finished his food and she’d taken the plate.

Lando sat there a while after she’d gone to tidy up again, not quite ready to move. His limbs were warm and heavy with food, his stomach full for the first time in, God, he couldn’t remember. The corner of his eye still caught the flash of yellow from the daffodils. Even the clutter on the coffee table had been gently rearranged, like someone had lived here instead of just existed in it.

He stood eventually, dragging a hand through his hair.

He didn’t say goodnight. But as he passed her, kneeling to organise something ridiculous like the cereal cupboard, he gave her a small nod.

“Night,” she said softly, like she knew he wouldn’t say it first.

By the time he got to his room, he felt it creeping in, the kind of sleep that didn’t come with punishment. Not exhaustion, not collapse. Just rest.

He changed half-heartedly, dropped into bed without bothering to pull the duvet straight.

And for the first time in what felt like months, he didn’t lie there for hours staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t toss or turn or drag himself back up to check his phone, or throw on joggers and go for another run he didn’t need.

He just closed his eyes.

And slept.

Deep. Still. Undisturbed.

He was that comfortable with his sleep he hadn’t even heard her leave.

The trial week came and went, and with that came his little scheduled meeting with Max.

“So,” Max said, leaning back in the café chair, hands wrapped around his coffee. “How’s life with Mary Poppins?”

Lando rolled his eyes, sipping slowly from a mug of hot chocolate that was somehow still hot.

“She doesn’t float in with a brolly, if that’s what you mean.”

“But she’s working, isn’t she?”

Lando didn’t answer straight away. He watched a dog trot past outside the window, nose down, tail wagging. The streets of Monte Carlo were busy with the usual Sunday bustle, people with tote bags full of veg, couples bickering gently over directions, someone playing guitar near the kerb.

He shrugged. “It’s less shit.”

Max smirked. “That’s the highest praise I’ve ever heard you give anyone.”

Lando looked down into his tea. “She’s just easy to be around. Doesn’t treat me like I’m a problem. Or fragile. She just makes dinner and talks about stupid things and leaves vitamins on the counter like it’s no big deal.”

“And you like that?”

“I don’t not like it.”

Max grinned. “So you’re keeping her?”

Lando huffed. “She’s not a goldfish.”

“You know what I mean.”

He didn’t answer at first, and Max let him have the space. There was something behind Lando’s eyes, quieter than before, but still guarded. Except now, the edges weren’t quite so sharp. He looked a little less hollowed out. A little more present.

Lando stirred the drink absently, then said, “I think she’s staying another week.”

Max didn’t say I told you so, but he smiled like he’d already said it a hundred times.

Over the next week, a rhythm began to form.

It wasn’t a schedule, exactly, Lando hated those, but there were now patterns. Gentle ones. He’d wake up to the faint clatter of pans and the smell of food. She never made him breakfast outright, but there was always a plate of something on the side, covered with a tea towel, like it had just happened to be left there.

He’d find his gym gear washed and folded in the same place on the sofa each morning. Not spoken about, just done. Vitamins still by the sink. Her music always low. The flowers in the pint glass had been swapped out for fresh tulips.

He didn’t say thank you. But he noticed.

And he started sleeping better.

Not every night, but more than before. Enough that the dark under his eyes wasn’t as heavy. Enough that the fridge had actual food in it now, and it wasn’t all hers.

By Monday night, she was packing up her bag to go home like usual when he spoke up.

“I leave for Barcelona tomorrow.”

She looked up, bright as ever. “Yup, I know. Made you an airport snack.”

She reached into the fridge and pulled out a tupperware container, sliding it across the counter towards him. The lid was already labelled in biro, ‘Do not open until bored at terminal gate’.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I fly private, right? They’ve got catering.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “And what are the odds you didn’t reply to the email asking about your dietary preferences?”

He paused.

She grinned.

“Thought so. It’s just a wrap and some fruit. No tomatoes, no weird mayo, no drama.”

He huffed, but he didn’t push it. He picked it up and tucked it under one arm.

“Oh, and,” she added, wiping her hands on a tea towel, “I put a few things on your bed. Clothes you might consider packing. You don’t have to. Just thought I’d save you standing in your pants tomorrow morning wondering what the weather in Barcelona will be, and yes I know you like to dress warm.”

He let out a proper laugh, low and unexpected.

“You’ve done two of my most hated tasks in one night,” he said, eyes warm for a moment. “That’s impressive.”

She shrugged, light as always. “It’s what I’m here for.”

He stood in the doorway, still holding the tupperware, gaze lingering on her longer than he meant to. She didn’t make anything of it, just smiled and went back to packing her bag.

Race weekends were always a blur.

Even after years of doing it, Lando never really adjusted. The heat, the noise, the cameras, the pressure. Spain in May was dry and heavy, the kind of heat that sat on your shoulders and made your helmet feel three sizes too small. Qualifying had been a disaster, traffic, a lock-up, something just off with the rear grip. He was starting further back than he liked. Further back than the car deserved.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the cool-down lap.

His engineer had been cautious over the radio, Max had texted a brief ‘rough one. you’ll fix it.’ and that was about it. Lando stayed in his suit too long, helmet off but gloves still on, sitting at the back of the garage with his jaw clenched and a bottle of water sweating in his hand.

Later, after media duties and a cold shower and a half-hearted poke at some pasta, he was lying on the hotel bed, one leg still on the floor, staring at the ceiling when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it out of habit.

It was a photo.

She was in a little French bar somewhere, low lights, strings of flags, telly mounted high on the wall with the F1 coverage paused mid-graphic. He recognised his own face in the corner, frozen mid-interview. She was holding up a pint of something cloudy, face half in frame, smiling like she’d just bumped into an old mate. A bowl of crisps sat in front of her.

The caption followed a second later:

That quali looked tough. Make sure to have enough electrolytes or a banana.

Lando stared at it for longer than he meant to. Something tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She hadn’t asked how he was.

Hadn’t said you’ll get them tomorrow or you’re still the best or any of the usual platitudes.

Just, looked tough, take care of yourself.

Simple. Uncomplicated.

He let out a small breath of something that might have been a laugh. His thumb hovered over the screen for a second, then tapped out a reply.

They only gave us oranges.

A few seconds passed.

That’s alright. Oranges are just citrusy bananas in disguise.

He shook his head, grinning now, properly.

There was still noise in his chest, frustration, the echo of tyres locking up, but it didn’t feel quite so loud anymore.

And for the first time after a bad Saturday, Lando didn’t feel like running from it.

The flight back to Monaco was uneventful. He slept for half of it, sprawled inelegantly in the reclined seat, his cap pulled low and earphones in with no music playing. His body was tired in that hollow, post-race way, blood still buzzing faintly, muscles tight, but his brain was quieter than usual.

P2 wasn’t bad. Not a win, but solid points. Still, it ate at him.

He arrived home just after midnight. The flat was dark, blinds drawn, the sea outside nothing but soft black noise.

Lando dumped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes. It should have felt like relief, home, bed, no media duties, but it didn’t. It felt still.

He flicked on the light in the kitchen, expecting nothing.

Instead, there it was on the counter.

A piece of white printer paper, creased slightly down the middle, folded like a school certificate. Hand-drawn, with glitter gel pen of all things.

P2 – WELL DONE, CHAMPION

Underneath, in all-caps block letters, it read:

REDEEM THIS FOR 1 (ONE) FAVOURITE CHOCOLATE BAR, TO BE EATEN IMMEDIATELY.

And there it was. His favourite. Not the obvious one either, the one he used to buy from the corner shop when he was fifteen and couldn’t afford imported Swiss stuff with his pocket money. He hadn’t had one in years.

He picked it up, staring at it like it might disappear.

Beside the certificate was a folded note, written in her loopy handwriting:

I figured you’d want some space after the weekend, so I’m giving you the night off from me.

BUT. Your favourite meal is in the fridge. I expect to see the container empty when I’m back at 7am. I will be checking the bins. I’ve taken the power cable for your PC and hidden your gym clothes, so don’t bother looking. Please sleep. Properly. You’ve earned it x

He read it twice, then once more for good measure.

There was no teasing smile in the room, no hum of music or smell of herbs in the air, but her presence was there, in every corner. Quietly looking after him without needing him to admit he needed it.

He opened the fridge. The meal was there, labelled, still warm enough to be reheated. He didn’t even question how she knew it was his favourite. He just took it out, turned on the oven, and sat at the counter with the chocolate bar already half-eaten.

The flat was silent.

Normally he hated the silence. It stretched and scratched at him until he had to fill it. TV, weights, anything. But tonight it was different.

Tonight, the silence felt... safe. Like something was waiting just out of frame.

And though he’d never say it aloud, not even to himself—

He missed her. Slightly.

Just enough that 7am didn’t feel all that far away.

The first light slipped through the half-open blinds, soft and pale against the dark wood floor.

Lando was already up.

He didn’t mean to be. He’d woken sometime in the small hours, restless, but then the smell of coffee brewing pulled him from the blur of sleep. He found himself in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, the warmth of the oven still humming softly nearby.

The meal was gone. The container clean.

He smiled a little to himself, small victory, at least.

The kettle clicked off, and she appeared in the doorway, hair tied back loosely, eyes bright but gentle.

“Morning,” she said quietly, like she was trying not to wake the flat.

He met her gaze, caught in the calm.

“Morning.”

She reached for the coffee pot and topped up his mug, then poured one for herself.

They stood there for a beat, just the two of them and the quiet hum of the morning.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

Lando shrugged, but there was something different in his tone. “More than I usually do.”

“That’s good.”

He nodded, watching her move around the kitchen with that effortless ease, putting the chocolate wrapper in the bin, tidying the dishes.

He felt it again. That small, stubborn flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before: contentment.

She looked over her shoulder, catching his eye.

“Race weekend’s done,” she said softly. “You’re home now.”

He gave her a crooked smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes just yet, but was close.

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

She blew on her coffee, then glanced over at him with a curious tilt of her head.

“So what do you usually do on days like this? After a race?”

Lando paused, mug halfway to his lips.

“Usually?” he said. “Try not to think.”

She gave a small nod, like she understood exactly what he meant.

“Right,” she said lightly. “So why don’t we go to the beach?”

He blinked. “The beach?”

“Yeah. You know, sand, sea, a bit of fresh air. It’s 27 degrees, the water will be decent. You’ve done all the not thinking bit, now you can do the part where you feel like a person again.”

Lando looked at her like she’d just suggested skydiving. In the rain. Naked.

She met his stare head-on, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.

“I’m not saying we have to go swimming,” she added. “Just sit. Maybe with a drink. Or ice cream. I’ll bring snacks if that helps.”

He huffed a small laugh. “You’re relentless.”

“I prefer the term optimistic.”

He glanced out the window. The sun was already climbing, a shimmer of gold across the buildings. Monaco in May didn’t waste time. It was exactly the kind of day he’d usually spend in a dark gym or glued to his screen with a headset on.

And yet.

“Okay,” he said at last, surprising even himself. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

Her smile lit up, bright and immediate. “Brilliant.” He turned to head for his room. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

“I’ll meet you back here in thirty,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Just need to pop home, get a few bits.” He nodded. “Alright.”

And then she was gone, the flat felt quieter without her, but not in the lonely way. More like a held breath, waiting.

Lando glanced around, bemused at himself.

The beach. On a Monday.

He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “What am I doing?”

But he was already reaching for his sunglasses.

When she came back, the sun was even higher in the sky and so was something in Lando’s chest. He’d opened all the windows while she was gone, and the breeze drifting through the flat was warm and salt-tinged.

He heard the door go and turned, halfway through stuffing a towel into a backpack.

She stepped into the kitchen in a light summer dress, sunglasses perched on her head, a bag slung over her shoulder. It was nothing dramatic, just something simple and floral, but it suited her. She looked soft, golden in the sunlight, like she belonged exactly in that moment.

Lando’s brain hiccuped. He didn’t say anything but he looked, really looked, and quietly thought to himself.

God, she’s pretty.

She caught his gaze, raised a brow. “What?”

He blinked. “Nothing.”

He slung the bag over his shoulder and nodded towards the door. “We’ve got to go somewhere that’s not Monaco, though.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “People’ll see. Paparazzi, fans, someone’ll clock it. Me. Us”

Her smile curled. “Us?”

“I just mean—” he started, but she was already grinning wider.

“I know what you meant, so where then?” “We’ll have to drive into France,” he said, completely serious.

She laughed.

He looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing, sorry,” she said, still smiling. “Just the way you said it like it was just us popping down to the shops.” He gave her a look, lips twitching. “It sort of is.”

She shrugged, following him down into the garage. “Alright then, France it is.”

The garage was cool and dim after the heat of the morning. Rows of sleek cars sat like sleeping beasts under soft overhead lights. She slowed as they walked, eyes wide.

“Bloody hell,” she murmured. “Is this all you?” He chuckled, unlocking one of the quieter looking models. “Some are mine. Some are team perks. Some are just there.”

She ran a hand along the bonnet, clearly impressed. “Not bad for a day at the beach.” They set off, the coast unfurling beside them like a painting. The drive was easy, winding roads and open skies, her hair dancing in the breeze as music played low from the speakers. She sang along quietly to bits she knew. He didn’t join in, but he listened.

And he smiled.

The beach was quieter than expected, a little cove tucked away from the road, shaded by cliffs and speckled with driftwood. They laid their things on the warm sand, and she kicked off her sandals with a sigh.

Lando was laying out the towles when she pulled her dress over her head in one swift motion, revealing a bikini underneath.

He didn’t stare, or at least he told himself he didn’t.

But he did definitely notice.

Something in his stomach dipped for a second, caught between admiration and the very sudden awareness of who he was and who she was.

She stretched like she’d been waiting all day to do it, hair tied up now, skin kissed golden by the sun.

Lando barely had time to take off his own shirt before she looked over her shoulder, grinning wickedly.

“Race you!”

And before he could respond, she was already sprinting towards the sea, feet kicking up soft clouds of sand.

He blinked, startled, then swore under his breath, grinning.

“You little—”

He chased after her, heart thudding, not from the sun. Something lighter than adrenaline, freer than pressure. The breeze bit at his skin, the salt stung his eyes, and the sound of her laugh carried over the waves.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt light.

The sea was warmer than he expected, cool at first touch, then refreshing against his sun-warmed skin.

She was already thigh deep when he caught up, turning to glance over her shoulder with a grin that said you’re too slow.

Lando launched at her.

She yelped, laughing as he caught her around the waist and they both stumbled deeper into the water, waves breaking around them.

“Alright! Alright! Truce!” she shouted, breathless.

But he didn’t let go, just held her steady against the current for a second too long. She looked up at him, cheeks pink from the sun and smiling so wide it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Then, without warning, she dunked him.

His head went under with a surprised splash and he surfaced with a splutter, hair slicked to his forehead and eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you’re done for,” he said, grinning through the water dripping from his lashes.

They splashed and shoved and laughed like children, the kind of silly, harmless chaos that left his chest aching, but not in the bad way.

Eventually, soaked and smiling, they drifted into a quiet stretch of the cove, water up to their waists, the sun casting long golden streaks across the surface.

They talked a bit, nothing too heavy. Favourite ice creams. Embarrassing childhood stories. He learnt she hated the sound of polystyrene, and she learnt he once fell asleep in a bin lorry by mistake during a school trip (real story from me lol).

Time stretched in that slow, delicious way that only seemed to happen when he was with her.

The rest of the day passed in sun-drowsy contentment.

They dried off on the towels, eating snacks and reading bits from a tatty magazine she’d brought on how to impress your manager. She dozed for a while with her arm flopped across her eyes. He sat beside her, knees pulled up, watching the tide roll in and out, trying not to overthink how much peace he felt in that exact moment.

Later, on the drive back, they stopped for ice cream from a stand near the harbour. She ordered something fruity. He got mint choc chip, mostly so she’d stop teasing him for being too grown up and choosing something like coffee.

By the time they were halfway home, the sun had dipped below the hills and she was fast asleep in the passenger seat, head turned gently towards him, mouth parted slightly.

Lando glanced at her, then back at the road. His grip on the wheel softened.

When they got back to the flat, he didn’t wake her.

Instead, he slipped out of the driver’s seat, came round, and unbuckled her gently. She stirred slightly as he lifted her into his arms, warm and still faintly smelling of suncream.

Her head dropped to his shoulder. He didn't say a word, he didn't even breathe.

The lift ride up was quiet. His flat even quieter.

He nudged the door open, padded through the hall, and carried her straight into his bedroom. The sheets were still crisp from the morning, untouched.

He laid her down carefully, brushed a bit of hair from her face. She sighed softly, turning into the pillow like she belonged there.

Lando lingered for a moment.

Then he backed out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

He crashed on the sofa, limbs heavy but heart oddly light. His damp curly hair pressed against the cushion, and for once, the silence didn’t bother him.

He could still hear her laugh echoing in the waves.

The following morning she woke with a start.

It took her a second to realise where she was, the unfamiliar softness of the duvet, the crisp linen, the faint scent of him on the pillow. Definitely not her flat. And definitely his bed.

“Shit.”

She sat up quickly, heart thudding, scanning the room for her jacket or bag or anything that proved that she hopefully hasn’t slept with him.

The flat was quiet except for the faint sound of something clattering in the kitchen. Not exactly a disaster, but not quite peace either.

She pulled a random hoodie over her head, ran a hand through her tangled hair, and padded out into the main room, bracing herself.

He was in the kitchen. Barefoot, curls a mess, concentration furrowed into his brow as he flipped a pancake that looked… questionably thick.

The pan hissed. The pancake landed mostly where it should’ve.

She crossed her arms, trying not to laugh. “Are you… cooking?”

Lando turned, startled. His cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment, more from the warmth of the kitchen and the fact he hadn’t expected her to be awake.

“Sort of,” he muttered, glancing down at the half-stack on the plate. “They’re edible. Just about.”

She looked at him, messy-haired, in an old hoodie, trying to figure out if the one in the pan was burnt or just dark golden.

She couldn't help it. She smiled.

“I’m meant to be the one looking after you,” she said, shaking her head.

He rolled his eyes but there was no bite to it. “You fell asleep. I wasn’t going to wake you just to supervise me making average pancakes.”

“Below average.”

“They’re fine,” he defended, lifting one with the spatula. It folded in half on itself. “Okay, they’re character-building.”

She stepped closer, nudging him with her shoulder. “Look at that. First meal you’ve cooked yourself in how long?”

Lando scoffed, but the back of his neck went pink. “Dunno. Ages.”

She tilted her head, eyes soft with something he couldn’t name. “Domesticity looks good on you.”

He froze for a second but he felt the words settle somewhere in his chest.

Domesticity.

Her, here. His hoodie. Pancakes. Morning light.

He looked at her, really looked, and for once didn’t feel the urge to run from the quiet.

Instead, he flipped the final pancake with a slightly smug smirk. “Told you I didn’t need a carer.”

She raised an eyebrow. “One half-decent breakfast doesn’t mean you’re cured, sweetheart.”

He smiled despite himself. Sweetheart.

And just like that, he knew the rest of his day was going to be warm.

She grabbed a plate and scooped a pancake onto it, then passed it over with a cheeky grin.

“Here, try not to burn it.”

Lando took it, biting into the warm, slightly uneven stack. It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was pretty good. The kind of good that made you forget about the mess of your last few days.

He looked up at her, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

“Not bad for a carer’s breakfast, huh?”

She laughed, sitting down at the small kitchen table. “I might have to upgrade you to sous chef.”

He shook his head, but the smile stayed. “You sure you want to get stuck with a bloke who can barely boil water without a minor disaster?”

She reached across the table, nudging his hand lightly.

“I think I can manage.”

There was a pause, comfortable and easy. The sunlight caught her eyes, making them shine in a way that made Lando’s chest tighten just a little.

“So…” she said softly, “how are you, really?”

Lando swallowed, the question catching him off guard. Usually, he brushed it off or changed the subject.

But today, he let it hang in the air.

“I’m… better than I was,” he admitted, voice low. “Being with you, well, it’s different. Less noise upstairs.”

She smiled gently, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the table.

“That’s good,” she said quietly. “You deserve that.”

He met her gaze, a flicker of something like hope stirring beneath the usual mess.

Maybe this was the start of something, not just a routine or a distraction, but something real.

He didn’t know what it was yet.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he wanted to find out.

A few days passed in the way only good days do, quietly, comfortably, and all at once.

They fell back into their routine with ease. She was there every morning, bright and soft and organised, keeping him on track without ever making it feel like a chore. Meals appeared when he forgot he was hungry. She swapped out the expired yoghurt in the fridge without saying a word. She scribbled reminders onto post-it notes and stuck them in ridiculous places. On his phone, the bathroom mirror, his steering wheel.

And somehow, despite everything, he was sleeping again for more than 4 hours.

The flat no longer felt too quiet.

He met Max at their usual café down in the port the morning before he flew out to Austria.

Lando slumped into the chair opposite him, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky.

Max gave him a look. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. You dress like a celebrity in hiding but show up to the same café every time.”

Lando smirked, pulling down his glasses. “Creature of habit.”

Max took a sip of his coffee, eyeing him properly now. “You look better.”

Lando blinked. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not half-dead,” Max said bluntly. “You’ve got colour in your face. You’ve shaved. I don’t see a Monster can fused to your hand.”

Lando huffed a laugh. “Thanks, mate. Proper confidence boost, that.”

Max grinned. “So she’s working, then.”

Lando paused. Thought about the pancakes. The post-its. The quiet sound of her humming in the kitchen. The way she made the flat feel like something more than just a place he slept in between breakdowns.

“She is,” he said, nodding. “More than I thought, actually.”

Max raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Told you. She’s got that stubborn kind of sunshine thing going on.”

Lando looked out at the boats bobbing gently on the water. “It’s weird. I don’t feel like she’s fixing me. It’s just… I want to keep up. For once.”

Max leaned back in his chair, smiling like he already knew.

“You’ve got someone in your corner now,” he said. “And you like it.”

Lando didn’t answer straight away.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Austria should’ve felt like business as usual.

The team was buzzing, the garage busy, the hotel sleek and sterile in that forgettable sort of way. He’d done this so many times he could go through the motions with his eyes shut, briefings, media, gym, sleep. Repeat.

But something was different this time.

His room was too quiet. His meals, though catered, tasted like cardboard. He’d forgotten to bring his vitamins, and the note she’d once stuck to the inside of his wash bag, remember to be a person, not just a machine, was no longer there.

He missed her. Not just her reminders and routines, but her. The way she’d talk at him while he made coffee, narrating her morning like it was the most important story on earth. The way she hummed while folding laundry. The way she looked at him, not like he was a driver, or a mess, but just… him.

The ache surprised him.

By Saturday night, he was holed up in his hotel room, lights dimmed, race prep done. But instead of watching footage or scrolling, he stared at his phone.

Then, almost on a whim, he opened their chat.

Would you ever come to a race?

Three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then came back.

That’s quite a question. Is this your subtle way of inviting me to Austria?

He smiled. Tapped back.

Austria’s a bit mad. But Silverstone’s next. Thought you might like it. Home race and all that.

The typing bubble came and went again. Then,

We can talk about it when you’re home.

And there it was, that word.

Home.

He stared at the screen longer than he meant to.

It did something to him. Knocked something loose. Not because she’d said it. But because she meant it. Like his flat wasn’t just a stopgap anymore. Like him being away wasn’t permanent.

They’d talk when he was home.

He stared at her last message a moment longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

I’d like you to be there when I get back Sunday night. If you’re free, I mean.

He regretted sending it immediately. Read it back twice. It looked desperate. Or worse, uncertain.

But a reply came a few minutes later.

I’ll be there.

That was it. Simple. Certain.

He smiled. Couldn’t help it.

And for the first time on a race weekend, he couldn’t wait for it to be over, not for the result, but because it meant he’d get to see her again.

Sunday night came fast.

The flight was smooth, the car from the airport quick, but Lando felt that weird tug of nerves all over again as the lift doors slid open to his flat. His bag thumped against his leg. The hallway smelt faintly of fresh linen and vanilla.

She was there.

He could feel it even before he saw her.

When he stepped inside, the lights were low, and something warm flickered in the corner of the living room, a couple of candles, set along the windowsill. The blinds were open, showing off the Monaco skyline in soft golden hues.

She looked up from the sofa, dressed in cosy joggers and a big jumper, her hair tied up, a bowl of popcorn balanced in her lap.

“There you are,” she said, smiling like he hadn’t just spent three days thinking about her.

Lando stepped in, shrugging off his jacket, suddenly very aware of the domesticity he'd walked into. A blanket was draped across the back of the sofa. Two mugs sat on the coffee table, one clearly his, already filled with hot chocolate.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of mood you’d be in,” she said, shifting slightly to make room, “so I picked three films. Comfort, distraction, or dramatic sobbing, dealer’s choice.”

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked around at the quiet little world she’d built for him in his absence.

His shoulders dropped.

“This is nice,” he said, finally. “Really nice.”

She grinned. “Well, I figured if I’m going to keep pretending to be your carer, I might as well offer full post-race recovery packages.”

He laughed, genuinely, the kind that shook a bit of the tension from his chest.

She patted the seat next to her. “Come on then. Sit down before your hot chocolate gets cold.”

And he did, just like that. Kicked off his shoes, slouched onto the sofa, and let his body fold into the warmth of it all. Her shoulder brushed his as she pressed play, and he didn’t move away.

He hadn’t realised how much he needed this.

Not just the quiet, but her quiet.

And as the film played and her head gently tipped onto his arm, Lando let himself enjoy it, just for a while.

Home.

It really did feel like that now.

The following morning he woke with a crick in his neck and the faint scent of her still clinging to the blanket draped over his chest.

The telly had switched itself off at some point in the night. His hot chocolate was long cold. And she was gone, left sometime after the credits had rolled, quietly, without waking him.

But the flat didn’t feel empty.

It felt like she’d just stepped out.

He pulled the blanket closer, burying his face in it for a second longer than necessary. Lavender and laundry powder. Familiar. Her.

Later that morning, she came by as usual, letting herself in with a chirpy “Morning!” and two coffees in hand.

He was already up for once, hair still rumpled from sleep, hoodie creased.

“Sleep on the sofa?” she asked, amused.

“Mm.” He took the coffee gratefully. “Didn’t make it very far after you left. Blanket was too warm.”

She gave him a knowing look but didn’t tease.

They settled at the kitchen table, a shared croissant between them, her notebook open to a new page.

“So,” she said, flicking the cap off her pen, “Silverstone. Talk to me.”

Lando took a slow sip of his coffee. “I meant what I said. I want you there.”

She glanced up, smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. “I know. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“You never do,” he said, honest and quick, before he even realised it.

That earned him a small look, soft, appreciative.

“So,” he continued, shifting slightly in his seat, “you’ve got two options. I can get you a pass for the paddock, proper team kit, blend in, pretend you belong.”

She raised a brow, amused. “Pretend?”

He smirked. “You’re bossy enough, you’d fit right in.”

She grinned. “Flattering.”

“Or,” he went on, “you can watch from the grandstands. Might be a bit calmer, but I’ll know you’re there either way.”

She looked at him properly now, pen stilled in her fingers. “And you want me there even if it’s chaos?”

He shrugged, suddenly a bit shy. “I don’t know. Just when you’re around, it feels like less of a mess.”

That quiet settled in again. Not awkward. Just true.

She nodded, scribbling something in her notebook. “Alright. I’ll come. You’ll have to get me a kit that doesn’t drown me, though. I’m not showing up looking like I borrowed it off a rugby player.”

Lando laughed. “Deal.”

And as she tucked her notebook away and moved to put the kettle on, he watched her like he was seeing the start of something he hadn’t quite had the words for yet.

But he knew this much.

He didn’t just want her there.

He needed her there.

They flew out on the Thursday morning.

Private jet, naturally, something Lando barely registered anymore, part of the machine that came with the job. But watching her take it all in was another story entirely.

“Wait,” she whispered as they pulled up onto the tarmac. “This is yours?”

He shrugged, smirking. “Well, not mine mine. But yeah. Team flight.”

She stared up at the sleek plane like it had dropped out of a film set. “Right. Okay. No big deal. Totally normal. Not freaking out.”

Lando chuckled as he grabbed her bag from the boot. “You’re allowed to be impressed, y’know. You don’t have to be cool all the time.”

“I am cool,” she insisted, following him up the steps with wide eyes. “Just also wildly unprepared for this level of luxury.”

Inside, she settled into one of the leather seats like she was afraid she’d break it, eyes darting around at the polished surfaces and perfectly folded blankets.

He sat opposite her, grinning like a fool.

“You alright there?”

She looked at him over the rim of her paper cup. “Lando, they offered me a mimosa and I said no because I panicked. I’m not alright.”

He burst out laughing, tipping his head back. “You’ll get used to it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

By the time they reached Silverstone, her nerves had settled into excitement.

The team garage was already buzzing, and when she stepped out in the McLaren kit he’d had waiting for her, a proper fit, not some oversized leftover, Lando had to look away for a moment just to get himself together.

She fit in effortlessly.

Wearing the colours, she didn’t look like someone tagging along. She looked like she belonged.

And it was oddly comforting, more than he’d expected.

She was laughing with one of the engineers before he’d even finished debrief. Swapping notes with his physio. Keeping a watchful eye on the water bottle in his hand like it was her full-time job.

And for once, when he walked through the paddock, he didn’t feel like he was floating above it all.

He felt anchored.

Between sessions, she found him sat outside the motorhome, cap pulled low, headphones around his neck.

She passed him a banana and a look. “Don’t roll your eyes. You skipped breakfast.”

Lando took it, peeling it slowly. “You just like bossing me around.”

“Absolutely,” she said brightly. “Now eat it, number four.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You calling me by my driver number now?”

She grinned. “Only if it motivates you.”

And as she sat beside him, cross-legged and chatting like they were just two mates at a park somewhere, Lando realised this didn’t feel like chaos.

It felt… right.

Later that day, the two of them found themselves in the motorhome again, half-drawn blinds, casting warm strips of light across the small lounge space. Lando had pulled off his boots and fireproofs, now in team joggers and a loose t-shirt, legs stretched across the sofa while she sat on the carpet in front of him, back resting against the edge of the seat, her hair still slightly windswept from being trackside.

His hand dangled loosely near her shoulder. Not touching. But close.

She was humming, some random tune from the playlist she’d put on while he cooled down, and carefully peeling the corner of a protein bar wrapper for him.

“Do you know you hum constantly?” he said, watching her with that quiet, lopsided sort of amusement.

She glanced up. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Like, properly. All the time.”

“Well, maybe you’re just always around now.”

He smiled, then laughed softly when she tossed the protein bar at him without looking.

They fell into that easy silence again, the kind that didn’t need filling. She reached up to tug a hairband from her wrist, redoing her ponytail absentmindedly. His gaze lingered.

“You alright?” she asked, craning her neck slightly to look at him.

He nodded. “Yeah. You just make all this feel

less mental.”

That earned her softest smile, the kind she didn’t even have to think about. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like he wanted to say more but couldn’t figure out how.

Then the door creaked open and Oscar stepped in with a knock-knock gesture and a raised brow. “Sorry, didn’t realise this was occupied.”

Lando blinked, quickly sitting up, hand retreating behind his head like he hadn’t been close to her at all. She turned slightly, offering Oscar a warm, unapologetic smile.

“Hi,” she said, chipper as ever. “Nice to meet you, I’m Lando’s carer.”

Oscar grinned, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?”

Lando shrugged, slumping back into the sofa like it was no big deal. “Yeah. She cares so I don’t have to.”

Oscar snorted. “Nice work if you can get it.”

She laughed, then added, “To be fair, he’s more work than a pensioner with a sugar addiction, so I earn every bit of it.”

Oscar shot Lando a mock-sympathetic look. “She’s got you nailed, mate.”

Lando just shook his head, lips tugging into the smallest of smiles as Oscar backed out of the room with a wink and a wave.

Once the door shut again, she turned and looked up at him from the floor.

“Too much?” she teased.

He leaned forward, still smiling. “Not at all.”

And for the rest of the hour, with her back pressed to his knee and the quiet buzzing of the paddock beyond the walls, everything felt settled.

Like maybe this was becoming the new normal.

Race day came with its usual noise and nerves. The low thrum of engines in the distance, the hiss of tyres on tarmac, the sting of adrenaline thick in the air.

Silverstone buzzed with the kind of energy only a home race could bring.

And Lando had never driven better.

Every lap was clean, calculated, ruthless. No mistakes. No self-doubt. Just grit and instinct and a car that, for once, felt like an extension of himself.

When he crossed the finish line in P1, the roar from the grandstands felt deafening. Team radio crackled with cheers, engineers shouting down his ear, someone nearly in tears.

He barely heard it.

All he could think, where is she?

Pulling into parc fermé, he yanked off his helmet and looked around like a man on a mission.

“Where is she?” he asked one of the mechanics, already half out of the car.

The guy blinked. “Who?”

“Uh” He gestured vaguely. “My uh carer, she’s in the team kit, she was in the garage earlier. Has anyone seen her?”

Shrugs. Shaking heads. No one knew.

His jaw tensed, nerves he hadn’t felt all race prickling in now like static. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. All of this meant less if she wasn’t here to see it.

Still, he went through the motions: hugs with the crew, the sweaty TV pen interviews, the slow walk down the corridor lined with monitors and back-slaps. The moment was his, but it felt a bit empty.

Then he stepped onto the podium.

The crowd was thunderous. British flags everywhere, people chanting his name, flashes going off like strobes.

And there, down below, tucked between a few McLaren pit crew, cap pulled low and grinning up at him like he’d just done the impossible, there she was.

Her face lit up when he spotted her, and the tension in his chest just dropped.

He grinned, grabbed the champagne bottle, and with precision honed from years of celebration, arced the spray right in her direction.

She squealed, laughing, trying to duck behind someone’s shoulder but getting caught in it anyway.

He laughed too, and when the moment calmed, he looked down again and caught her eyes.

She mouthed something at him, something small, like ‘well done’, and he mouthed back.

Go back to the motorhome.

She gave a little salute, still smiling, and disappeared into the crowd.

And suddenly, the day felt complete.

The moment the press duties were done, Lando didn’t waste a second.

Still damp from champagne, hair sticking to his forehead, race suit tied at the waist, he all but jogged back through the paddock. Past cameras, past well-wishers, barely nodding as people tried to offer congratulations.

He needed to see her.

The motorhome was quiet when he pushed open the door, the rest of the team still caught up in the chaos outside. But she was there, sat on the sofa, McLaren cap now off, holding a bottle of water and staring out the window like she was waiting for him too.

“Hey—” she started, but didn’t finish.

Because he was already across the room, already scooping her up into a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of both of them. She gave a soft little laugh of surprise, arms winding round his neck as he held her like he’d just won her.

Which, in a way, he had.

“You were incredible,” she said against his shoulder.

“I didn’t care about the win,” he murmured, voice muffled in her hair. “Not until I saw you.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him, eyebrows drawing in. “Lando…”

“No, I mean it,” he said, heart racing now for entirely different reasons. “When I crossed the line, I should’ve felt everything. But I couldn’t think about anything except the fact that you weren’t there. Not at first. It felt, empty.”

Her expression softened, smile faltering at the edges.

“That’s the adrenaline talking,” she said gently, fingers brushing the back of his neck. “You’re on a high, people say all sorts when their heart’s going.”

“No,” he said firmly, eyes locked on hers. “I know it’s not.”

She stilled.

Lando took a breath. “My heart’s been on fire before, after wins, crashes, everything in between. But it’s never felt as empty as it does when you’re not near me. I didn’t know it at first, I didn’t have the words for it, but I do now.”

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed.

“I don’t just want you here when I’m falling apart,” he said quietly. “I want you here when I’m winning. When I’m okay. When I’m tired. When I’m not.”

Silence fell like a held breath.

And then she smiled, soft, shaken, and real. The kind that said she’d been waiting to hear those words without even realising it.

“I was always going to stay,” she whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes fluttering shut. “Good.”

They stood like that for a moment, bodies close, breath mingling, the silence between them full of everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

She tilted her chin ever so slightly, and his nose brushed against hers. Neither of them moved beyond that, like they were afraid to disturb something fragile.

Then she whispered, “You smell like champagne.”

He gave a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath. “You smell like bananas and home.”

She smiled at that, small and warm and a little bit shy.

And then, like gravity had finally caught up with them, he leant in.

Their lips met softly, tentative at first, the kind of kiss you give when you’ve been thinking about it for far too long and you want to get it right. It wasn’t hurried, or heavy, or anything like what the world outside might’ve expected from a Formula One driver fresh off a win.

It was slow. Careful. His way of saying he didn’t want this to be over too soon.

Her hands curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, and he held her like she might disappear if he let go. When they parted, barely an inch between them, neither moved away.

She blinked up at him, dazed in the gentlest way.

“That wasn’t adrenaline,” she said quietly, as if to confirm it for herself.

“No,” he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. “That was me. Just me.”

Her nose scrunched in that familiar way, eyes glinting with something fond. “Good.”

He smiled again, this time slower, fuller. And in the soft hush of the motorhome, with the noise of Silverstone still echoing somewhere in the background, Lando finally felt what peace might look like.

It looked a lot like her.

the end.

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trashforbarzal · 26 days ago

Text

patience – ws2

the three times it was supposed to happen, and the one time it did.

alternatively: realizing will was worth waiting for.

pairing: will smith x reader

genre: smut, fluff, college!au

word count: 6.5k

warnings: first time together, protected sex... no major warnings

author's note: in celebration of my baby very likely being in my home town right now, i decided to finally post this! my will smut ive been working on for ages (since 3rd of march) !!! so excited to finally be done and post it. hope you enjoy reading it <3 (also someone pls come give me a hug bcs usa is playing here tomorrow but i have an mri scan at that exact time so i cant go see him 💔 truly heartbreaking)

18+ content below, minors dni !!

there's a certain intent in the way will kisses you; a certain hunger, a certain need. it's obvious in the way his fingers trace along your skin beneath your shirt, the way his crotch instinctively rolls down against yours, the sounds he lets out. it's hard not to mistake – he wants you, and you'll gladly give him everything he wishes for.

the truth is, though, that you've not yet had sex with will, despite going out for several months. you have discussed it before, but not in too many details; mostly in words along the lines of 'it'll happen when it's time' and 'we're in no rush'. neither of you lives alone, and there's always something coming in between – a hockey game, an exam, a roommate throwing a stupid party – so it's rare for you to find a time and place that fits your desires and needs.

you and him aren't virgins, yet you aren't the most experienced either, so you've still felt a certain excitement when imagining your first time with him. and at this moment, when will's fingers begin to reach for the front of your jeans, the anticipation swells – multiplies, even – as if your entire body is holding its breath.

your dorm room is quiet, save for the low volume of the long forgotten movie playing on your laptop by the foot of your bed. the space is filled with a scent will recognizes as a mix of your favorite scented candles from that little indie store a few blocks away from campus. he parts from your lips and begins trailing kisses down your jaw as his thumb and pointer finger tease your zipper, before finally pulling it down and popping the button. "is... are you..." his breath tickles your skin as he speaks, mouth having moved to the front of your throat. "is this okay?"

you merely nod, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of his fingers trailing along the waistband of your panties, before remembering that he can't see. "y-yes," you let out, the word breathy on your tongue. will nuzzles his nose against the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, two fingers moving even further down.

"thought so," he says with a chuckle. "you're so wet that i can feel it through the fabric..." he trails his fingers along your slit over your panties, and a shudder passes through your body. "assumed i was doing something right."

"what can i say? you're a good kisser." your hands reach for his shoulders, holding onto them tightly as your head tips back with pleasure when he finally slips past the fabric, finding his way through the folds as if an expert on your body. "we should be quiet, though... daisy is in her room, and..."

will doesn't need to hear more. although he's sure that overhearing some muffled moans won't be the worst thing your dormmate will ever go through, he understands why you would find it awkward to run into your friend if she knew what happened behind your closed doors.

however, it doesn't affect the way he brushes his thumb against your clit, or bites down right above your collarbone, or-

suddenly, someone calls out your name. someone who isn't will.

as if daisy heard you mention her name, she has now found her way to your door, the sound of gentle knocks meeting your ear. "are you almost ready?" she asks, and you frown instinctively.

"ready for what?" you say back, one hand reaching to pull will's head from your skin to halt him.

"for the meeting at the student union." a memory flashes before your eyes. "you said you'd go with me, remember?"

you do remember. you and daisy planned this weeks ago; she really wants to engage in some boring agenda and planning stuff at the student union, but feels too shy to go to these things alone. so, as the good friend you are, you'd promised to tag along to support her.

of course the meeting is tonight, the first time will had gotten into your pants – even if it was just a finger or two.

"right," you say, clearing your throat and letting your gaze meet will's. "i'll be ready in just a few."

the guilt in your eyes is sincere, and will sees it. he accepts the apology you offer him and unwillingly removes his hand from you. "another time?" he asks, straightening up on the bed and allowing you to push yourself to sit next to him.

"another time," you assure him.

"well," he starts, and he's wearing a mischievous grin that you can't quite figure out yet. "until next time..." and then he lifts his fingers to his mouth, pushing them past his lips, and licking himself clear of your juices.

"you're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

you had understood the meaning behind will's call the second he uttered those magical words.

"i'm at the apartment and gabe's not here… maybe you could come over and chill?"

and that's how you find yourself here, on the couch of an off-campus apartment, making out with your boyfriend. fridays are the only days of the week when you don't have any classes, so you'd just been lounging around your apartment and studying when will called, meaning that you just threw on the first things you could find before hurrying off to his place.

it hadn't taken long for the two of you to get settled on the couch in his living room with some random show playing on the tv. just sitting next to him felt too far away, so you climbed into his lap – though, to no surprise of will's, with your back facing the tv. he knew you weren't going to be focusing on the show for much longer anyway.

your lips are already swollen from the kissing, but you can't get enough. his cologne mixes with his natural scent and it's too unbearable, making you just want to swallow him whole. his hands have since long wandered down to your hips, but when they slip beneath your skirt and land on your cheeks, your breath hitches in your throat. he gives your ass a firm squeeze, resulting in you pressing your crotch down against his. there's only the thin material of your underwear separating you from his jeans, and the friction feels far too good to be true.

will takes note of the sounds you're letting out, the little whimpers and weak moans, and keeps on pressing you forward, rolling your hips over his. he bites down on your bottom lip, before soothing the sting with a lick of his tongue and pulling back slightly. "you're-" he cuts himself off to clear his throat, clearly affected by the way you gaze down at him. "you're a fucking dream, did you know that?"

your hand reaches up to brush away a stray curl from his forehead, before raking through his blonde hair. "could say the same thing about you," you tell him, leaning in to briefly brush your lips against his again. "shouldn't we at least go to your room, though?"

will shakes his head, nudging your nose with his. "gabe has classes until four on fridays."

he kisses you with the same type of intensity, as if you'd never even parted. his arms encircle your waist, pulling you flush against him as your other hand makes its way to the back of his head too. when he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, you can't stop your fingers from pulling on his hair – which draws out an unexpected sound from his throat.

you pull back slightly, eyebrows raised. "oh, you have a thing for that?"

"for what?"

"hair pulling," you chuckle.

"dunno what you're talking abou-" his words get cut off when he feels you repeating your actions, fingers getting lost in his curls and pulling so heavenly. his eyes flutter closed, and you can't help but giggle, instead draping your arms around the back of his neck and leaning in even closer.

"it's cute," you tell him, peppering a thousand quick kisses all over his cheek and jaw before letting your hands wander down to the front of his body. "and it's now noted for future use."

as your fingers begin working on the buttons of his shirt, he presses his lips to your neck, licking and nibbling at every inch of skin he can reach. his own hands sneak under your sweatshirt, sliding up your sides and tracing his thumbs along your ribs, before going even further and-

"are you serious?" he asks, biting down on your skin right below your ear as if physically scolding you. "you're really not wearing a bra?"

a jolt of electricity shoots down your spine when his cold hands cup your bare breasts, and you sigh. "i, um... wasn't wearing one when you called," you explain. it's hard to find the right words when he skims his calloused fingertips over your already hardened nipples, making all your thoughts clouded. "didn't bother putting one on... since i was in a rush..."

the feeling of your round, perky tits in his hands is something he could die for, will thinks; this moment right here tops anything he's been through before. combined with the feeling of your nails scratching their way down his now revealed chest, it's equal to heaven.

it all feels so hasty and messy, and maybe it isn't the most romantic of ways to do this, but you two are too eager to care – you just want each other, no matter how.

he's just about to help you get him out of the shirt when suddenly, a sound breaks through his hazy mind. the apartment door crashes shut, and you both freeze in your tracks. "will? man, you'll never guess what-"

gabe perreault, will's best friend, teammate and roommate, suddenly stands in the doorway to the living room. you hold your breath, as if that will make him disappear and undo this entire scene, and will's hands drop to your hips, where you can clearly feel his fingers tense up.

either gabe is blatantly stupid, or else he has seen way worse things in life and just doesn't care – because he just smiles at you and struts into the room. "hi there," he greets you. "didn't know you were coming over. but the more the merrier, right?" you shoot will an alarmed look once gabe settles next to you both on the couch, and your boyfriend looks just as surprised as you. "what are we watching?"

the next time you and will have time to get into a similar situation is over a week later. it's saturday, and the eagles have just won against harvard, which most of the team is out celebrating – but not will. not when daisy is staying over at her boyfriend's place and has left the dorm just for you.

will has no time for celebrating when there's a real chance that he'll get to spend the night inside his girlfriend.

the two of you had this night planned for several days, and you always assumed you'd be lip-locked from the get-go and then get down to business instantly. but on the contrary, the night started off quite slowly; with a movie playing on your laptop yet again, with you cuddled up to his side and his arm draped across your shoulders, and with you both sneaking little innocent kisses from each other every once in a while. since the game, you'd both gotten changed into more comfortable clothes – him in a white shirt and pair of gray sweatpants, you in cotton shorts and a bc hoodie – and the general vibe of it all is lighthearted and cozy, which is not what you had expected.

eventually, though, will's free hand finds your knee, and while the touches start off innocent, it doesn't take long before his fingers begin wandering up your thigh. his head tilts down so that he can press his lips against your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your neck. you sigh when he sucks on a spot under your ear, and his thumb slips past the hem of your shorts to stroke along the inside of your thighs.

with the way your eyelids have fluttered shut and your body is fully relaxed, it's easy for will to tell that the movie is none of your concern anymore. he still makes a point of retracting from you and sitting up more properly, one hand grabbing your laptop. "okay if i shut this off?" he says, but it's not really what he's asking for. are we really doing this? are you okay with this?

you just nod hastily, hands reaching out to him. "yeah, yeah. just come here," you answer, smiling as he pushes your laptop closed and places it on your bedside table before crawling over you. loud and clear.

the first brush of lips is tentative yet completely electrifying. it sets your whole body on fire, and the way one of his hands lands on your jaw, his thumb drawing circles onto your cheek, doesn't exactly tame the flames. it's much more gentle than when you were sitting on will's couch just over a week ago – the slow kisses and unspoken want making your chest ache – yet, there's still a strong sense of neediness behind it.

his shirt comes off in just a second, and then follows your hoodie, leaving you in just a lacy, black camisole that does a pretty poor job of hiding what's going on underneath it. he can't hold back from reaching down to pinch your nipple through the fabric of your top, loving the way you squirm and whine. "so needy already?" he asks, humming at the way your hands grab at his shoulders.

"always needy for you," you hum, tipping your head back as he presses a gentle kiss to the front of your throat, feeling your pulse beneath your skin. he then moves up to lock his lips with yours again. he kisses you feverishly, tingles spreading through your body when his tongue meets yours. his fingers dip inside your top, refusing to neglect any inch of your skin as if memorizing every dip and curve of your body. the combination of him kneading your breasts and licking lazily into your mouth leaves you breathless in just seconds, and yet you honestly think you could stay like this forever.

still, you find yourself pushing at his shoulders and forcing him to lie down instead. at first, he's a little confused, but when you begin to climb on top of him, he obliges happily – having you boss him around like this is insanely hot, and he makes a mental note to repeat this in the future.

you straddle his thighs, leaning forward to trace a finger along the rough ridges of his toned chest. will clasps his fingers together behind his head, letting out a contented sigh as he watches you move down his body. you attach your lips to his skin next, and his breath hitches in his throat. he never could've dreamed about having such a pretty angel kiss her way down his body.

your fingers undo his zipper quickly and will helps you pull his pants down his hips, revealing the tent in his boxers. a chuckle slips from your lips. "so needy already?" you parrot, hands reaching down to brush against his shaft through the fabric. he's so desperate that he twitches even from the slightest of touches, and you almost feel bad for him when you hear the sound that rumbles in his throat. one hand slips past the hem of his underwear, pumping him a few times before rubbing his tip with your thumb and spreading his precum along his hardness. "you're bigger than i thought."

"is that a compliment or an insult?" he says around a moan, hips bucking slightly to try to seek your touch.

"definitely a compliment." you pull his dick free of its confinement, before slipping out of your shorts and throwing them to some random corner of the room. "i knew you'd be big, but... you're much thicker than i imagined."

"god, you can't just say something like that-" he visibly shudders when you lean down to press a kiss to his tip, and then a few more down the underside of him. you're practically itching to taste him, to feel his weight on your tongue, but then you sit up a little straighter again, deciding on something else; you settle on his crotch again, hips rolling down against him.

there's now only one soaked layer of fabric separating will from where he craves to be, and it's killing you just as much as him. his fingers dig into your sides, helping you find a good rhythm as you both grow increasingly impatient. you throw your head back, whining a little too loudly, and you can't take it anymore. "top- top drawer," you choke out, and will understands instantly, reaching out to grab a condom from your bedside table.

he throws it down to you, and letting you rip the packaging open and roll it down his cock. this is it, you think to yourself. god, i really hope this is it. please let this be it-

a signal fills the room. "don't tell me that's..." but yes, it is; will picks up his phone from the other side of the bed, holding it up to reveal that it's his mother calling. and to your greatest dismay, he answers the call. will, ever the mama's boy, has apparently never missed a call from his mother.

he's seemingly also never been able to read a room – or what it means when someone glares and shakes their head at him.

"hey, mom," he says, head flopping down against the pillow. "yeah, the game went well- oh, you streamed it?"

you sit there stunned. is this really happening? were you really just about to have sex with your boyfriend for the first time, but got interrupted by his mom? should you climb off him, leave him alone in the room, jump out the window from the fourth floor?

as if able to read your thoughts, one of his hands lands on your hip again, thumb rubbing along your hipbone reassuringly as his gaze meets yours. he looks apologetic and guilty, but it doesn't quite take away from the disappointment you feel. "mhm, gabe's shot there was amazing... i know, it was unnecessary for me to take that penalty, i didn't mean to..."

a tiny part of you wants to tease him a little, to kiss your way around his shaft, to see him stutter and hang up already – but he's far too good and he doesn't deserve it. he seems to really feel bad over what he did, as if he acted on impulse and regretted his actions instantly.

when he finally hangs up, he throws his phone to the side and drags a hand down his face. "so... your mom?" you ask hesitantly.

he nods. "i completely ruined the mood, didn't i?" he says with a weak chuckle.

"it doesn't have to," you reassure him, leaning down to stroke your hands down his chest, but he shakes his head and looks down at his crotch.

"too late." it wasn't a very long call with his mother, but there's not even the faintest trace of a boner left. of course. "she killed him."

you sigh and flop down to his side, squeezing your eyes shut. "are we ever actually going to go through with this?" you ask after a few moments of silence. "maybe the fact that we keep getting interrupted is... a sign from the universe or something. we're doomed."

"stop, don't say that." will tilts his head to the side, nose brushing against your cheek. "i think it just makes the anticipation stronger, you know? when it finally happens..." he presses a kiss to your skin. "it'll be worth it."

you sure hope so.

wear something sexy, picking you up in 20. x

the text is simple, but more than enough to leave a dull ache in your core. your thoughts wander too far before you can control them and remind yourself not to jump to any conclusions. this has happened before, you tell yourself; just because you're going to will's apartment doesn't mean gabe won't be there, and it doesn't mean that will or you will automatically be in the mood-

except, you both obviously will be. this sexual tension has been going on for far too long now, and it's been practically impossible to ignore. even just sitting next to each other in the dining hall, or walking down campus together, has been impossible; you've both been wanting to just put your hands on each other already, honestly itching to sneak away into an empty classroom and just get over with it already.

but you'd agreed. you wanted the first time to be proper and special. so, although it was impatiently, you had waited.

just "wearing something sexy" is not as easy as it sounds when you have all of the expectations in the world on your shoulders. granted, you put them there yourself – will probably would've found you just as sexy if you wore a potato sack – but they were still there. you eventually settled on picking out a fancy set of lingerie, deciding that they would be the main attraction anyway, and whatever shirt and pants you wore would hopefully just be discarded sooner rather than later.

there must be a certain spring in your step, because daisy gives you a knowing look once you leave your room and make your way into your shared living room. "you seeing will tonight?" she asks, and you can't help but nod eagerly. "well... i probably don't have to tell you this, but... be safe, okay?"

"of course," you tell her, shooting her a smile just as the doorbell rings. after strutting over to the door and opening it, you throw yourself into your boyfriend's arms instantly. he answers with a huff of laughter and a tight hug.

"you ready to go?" will asks and you nod, hand finding his before turning back to daisy and waving to her.

"don't wait up!" you say, and she shakes her head, grin on her lips.

"of course not."

the ride to will's place is quick, his hand never leaving your knee for even a second. he unlocks the door, holding it open for you, and something feels off about the way the entire apartment is dark – except for a trail of little tealights marking a path to will's bedroom. "where is gabe?" you ask, taking a few wary steps into the space. you're suddenly hit by nerves and the reality of what's going on, though trying your best not to show it.

will shuts the door behind you both, stepping out of his shoes before bending down to undo the laces of yours. "he's with some girl," he answers vaguely, and you give him a pointed look once he's helped you out of your shoes and stood up again.

"coming home when?"

will shakes his head, and the smile on his lips makes you feel relieved instantly. "never. i paid him to sleep somewhere, anywhere, else."

you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him down to your height. "you're the best," you mumble against his lips before kissing him.

"you just wait." he gives you one last kiss before pulling away, one hand on your lower back guiding you towards his bedroom.

once he pushes his door open, you gasp at the sight. candles everywhere – pillars, tapers, tealights, in all kinds of colors and sizes – and as if that wasn't romantic enough, there are a bunch of rose petals spread on top of his comforter. will shoots you a slight smile once you turn to him, seemingly a little unsure if you like it or if he's overdone it, and your heart flutters in your chest. "this is... lovely. you did all this? for me?"

he nods once, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

"seems like a bit of a fire hazard to me," you joke, though it's not completely unserious – but you suppose it would also be quite romantic to pass away because you were too busy making love to notice that the room was on fire.

will just shrugs. "everywhere i go with you puts me at risk of fire since you're so hot."

you give his shoulder a playful shove, but he barely reacts. he stands there, just watching you, so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

you reach for the hem of your shirt, only then noticing that your fingers are trembling slightly – when did that happen? you've been dreaming about this moment for weeks, and now you're suddenly anxious? this is no time to be timid, you tell yourself, so you continue with your plans, slipping the shirt over your head. you drop it to the ground, making sure there are no candles right there, before pulling your jeans off your body as well.

left in just the white, lacy lingerie you'd so carefully picked out, you feel more revealed and seen than ever – it doesn't help that will still hasn't said anything or reacted, either – but you can't turn back now. so you take both of his hands in yours, walking backwards until the back of your legs hit his bed, and you sit down.

"will?" you ask, following the way his eyes slowly move up and down your skin. "where is your mind at?"

he takes a deep breath, gaze finding yours. "can i be honest?" you nod. "i'm... a little nervous."

his sincerity makes your heart flutter. "so am i."

"do you still want to... go through with this?"

you give his hands a squeeze. "more than anything." will seems satisfied by your answer, because he helps you lie down properly against the pillows and then climbs on top of you.

his kisses aren't tentative per se, but they aren't as eager as they were last time you were in this position. it takes a while to warm up before you're both panting against each other's lips, tongues tangling and hands wandering. not that you're in any rush; will wants to take his time with you.

he leaves a trail of wet kisses down your jaw, and then your neck, and then along one of your collarbones. he eventually pushes himself up to sit, legs caging you in. "i forgot something," he says and you slate your head as an answer. "forgot to say how gorgeous you look."

you reach up to give his face a playful slap, but he grabs your wrist.

"i'm serious. you look... straight out of a fairy tale." then, he grimaces. "okay, maybe more like a porno. not the kind of fairy tale i'd show to a child, anyway."

"god, you're awful," you complain, but before you can say anything else, will's free hand has slipped behind your body, sending you a questioning look which you answer with a nod.

he gets the clasp of your bra undone – albeit a bit clumsily with just one hand – and helps the material slide off your arms. his gaze is even more intense now, staring at you like you're something he's been dreaming about for ages. you're just about to give in to the urge to cover yourself up when his mouth returns where it had left off, teeth nibbling and lips sucking on the soft skin of your chest. "thought it couldn't get better," he mumbles, though not stopping his actions for even a second, leaving no inch untouched. he's like a starved man, and it's hard to remember that this exact boy was careful about even touching you a few minutes ago. "but it got a lot better. fuck, you're so hot."

"it's kinda unfair, though," you say, shrugging – or, as much of a shrug as you can manage when you've got a golden retriever man pressing a circle of soft kisses around your nipple. "that you get to see all this, and you're a hockey player with abs and amazing chest muscles, and yet you've still got your shirt on and-"

he doesn't need to hear any more, instantly sitting back on his heels and getting out of his shirt. the material falls to the floor, but he wastes no time before his face is stuffed into your skin again. when his lips wander south, finding the edge of your panties, one hand finds your side, caressing your bare skin. "can i make you feel good?" he asks, hooking a finger of his free hand under the waistband. "is that okay?"

"yeah, just-" you sigh when he pulls the fabric down and off your legs, the cold air against your revealed gender sending a shiver up your spine. "just… hurry, will you?"

will settles between your thighs, his sweet laughter sounding like music to your ears. as his lips find the inside of your thigh, he lets the hand that was on your waist travel south. the first touch of his thumb against your clit makes your hips jerk, as if you've been anticipating this for years. "patient, baby," he chuckles, nose rubbing the space where your leg meets your hips. "we've got all the time in the world."

after drawing tantalizingly slow circles onto your bud for a while, adoring the way you squirm under his touch, he finally moves lower. he collects your wetness on his fingertips before letting one slender finger slide into your core. everything about will is big – he's tall, he's got big muscles and broad shoulders – so it shouldn't be any surprise that his fingers carry some length, too. and yet, it does surprise you. when another finger enters your warmth, he reaches further in than you'd expected, and the stretch when he spreads his fingers feels far too good for just a pair of fingers.

his tongue licks a few stripes up and down your slit while his fingers keep on pumping in and out of you, before his lips settle back on your clit. the combination of sucking, lapping and circling makes your head spin in an embarrassingly short amount of time, and your hands fly down to the back of his head.

"will-" you let out, fingers tangling in his soft blonde curls. "i'm- i'm really close-"

he merely hums as an answer, keeping up his actions until he has you falling apart on his tongue. his chest fills with pride at the feeling of your body convulsing as you reach your high, and the whines mixed with swearwords you let out make him want to stay right here all night. what else could he possibly need in life?

once your breathing has returned to somewhat normal, and you're no longer tugging on his hair so hard he thinks it might fall out, will retracts his face from between your legs and looks up at you. he finds you blinking down at him with just as much lust and love as he's feeling, and warmth spreads through his body.

"you okay up there?" he asks, fingers dancing along your stomach as he leans further up to face you again.

you respond with a hum, hands reaching down to his jeans and beginning to undo his belt. "my turn to make you feel good."

will stops you, fingers wrapping around your wrists. "it's okay," he says with a shake of his head.

you frown. "i wanna get my lips on you, though," you fight back.

"you'll have plenty of time to do that another time." just as you're about to bicker back again, he cups your cheek in his hand and continues. "going down on you was enough for me. honestly, i was seconds away from coming in my own pants just from your taste and sounds." he tilts your head down, letting your gaze wander to his crotch. "see? i'm not even kidding, i'm so hard it's extremely painful."

"just get out of your clothes, then, will you?"

he stands up in less than a second, not even bothering to pull his belt completely out, instead opting for just dragging his jeans and boxers off as quickly as possible. he snatches a condom from his bedside table, pulling the wrapper off and rolling the latex down his length hastily.

"are you sure your phone is off?" you ask when he settles over you again. "you don't have a facetime call scheduled with your mother?"

"god, shut up," he mutters, leaning down to crash his mouth against yours. he bites down on your bottom lip after a few moments, before parting slightly. "don't even mention her, she doesn't exist right now…"

he swallows your giggles, his hands grabbing your hips to angle them properly before parting your legs. "i'm sorry," you tell him, fingers brushing away some of the curls that had fallen into his eyes. "just wanted to make sure no one's going to interrupt."

"i won't let them." will takes a deep breath, sighing softly at the sight of you beneath him; so bare, vulnerable, open; all ready for him. his tip nudges your core. "is this okay? can i…?"

your words fail you, so you nod, tensing up slightly in anticipation. will's gentle kisses to your temple and soft touches along your ribs help soothe you, and soon enough, he starts pushing into you.

ever since you felt his girth in your hands that night in your bedroom, you've been trying to prepare yourself; attempting to remember just how big he was, imagining how he would feel inside you, how the stretch would be... and yet, none of it prepared yourself for this moment right here.

you'd remarked about how big he looked, but he feels much bigger. even after him fingering you, it's like he's splitting you open, and it's taking everything you have not to scream your lungs out. instead, you take it out on his back, letting your nails dig into his muscles hard enough to leave marks – you probably will feel guilty over it later, but right now, your every nerve ending is on fire, so your care is elsewhere.

even with the stretch, though, it feels amazing. maybe it's because of the stretch, or maybe it's just a side character, but something about just feeling him inside you like this is beyond anything you've felt before.

after allowing you to catch your breath for a few moments, will presses his lips to your forehead. "can i move?" he whispers. "or do you need a minute?"

you shake your head. "go ahead," you let out, words half a moan and half a whine.

you feel empty instantly when he pulls out of you, but he makes up for that when he thrusts back into you again. he sets a pace, slow but powerful, and it's easy for you to get used to. his cock drags along your insides to deliciously, having no issues hitting that spot deep inside of you that has you arching your back and pressing your chest up against his.

"you're so-" will groans mid-sentence, nearly losing his mind already. "so tight. feel so fucking good-" he has to really control himself to not shoot his load instantly; to him, it feels like you've had several weeks of foreplay and it all led up to this moment. he's extremely sensitive already, and the way your walls keep on throbbing around him doesn't exactly make him less needy, either.

as his lips find one of your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipple again and again, his hand pulls your knee up to hook it around his hip. the new position allows him more depth and another spot to hit. as if you hadn't already felt so good it was almost painful, the new angle sends a jolt of pleasure through your body every time he pushes inside you. and when his thumb finds your clit again, you're unable to hold back the high-pitched whine that errupts from your throat.

will's brain short-circuited long ago, but at the realization of how good he's making you feel – so good that you're unable to hold back from shaking beneath him and letting out those sweet sounds he's sure he'll come to be obsessed with – he nearly loses it in a second.

"are you anywhere close?" he asks, and your answer comes in the form of yet another trail of nail marks down his back muscles. "because- shit, i'm about to-"

your climax crashes over you before you can react, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him. when your walls clench around him, he has no way of holding back, either. he lets go completely, and the hottest moan you've ever heard leaves his lips as he rides out both of your highs. he then collapses on top of you, but his weight isn't crushing; despite his muscular, hockey player build, it feels grounding to have him so close. to feel his heartbeat thud against your chest, to hear his warm pants right by your ear, to smell his laundry detergent from his covers…

"you feel…" he starts after a few moments of silence, voice a mere breathless whisper, before pushing himself up on his elbows to look down at you. "so, so good."

"you're not too bad yourself," you answer with a weak chuckle, shaking your head.

you reach up with one hand to brush away a few sweaty curls that had stuck to his forehead, before allowing it to cup his cheek in your palm. "i'll go get something to clean you up, okay?"

your nod is answered with a soft kiss pressed to your lips. when will slowly pulls himself out of you, it leaves you with a feeling of emptiness and longing – but the thought of getting to do this all over again makes it a lot better. "hey, will?" you ask just as he rises from the bed.

he looks back at you with eyebrows raised, a gentle flush still prominent on his cheeks.

"i'm glad we ignored the universe."

his expression softened. "never been happier."

610 notes · View notes

trashforbarzal · 29 days ago

Text

Keeping it professional || LN4

landonorris x pr!manager

summary: After Lando's many escapes his team finally decides to get him a new pr manager or how he calls it a 'babysitter'. He despises the idea and makes your life incredibly difficult, but a night out might change this dynamic. A relationship that's meant to be strictly professional changes into some sort of friendship that might even end up as something more.

01. Babysitter

02. Media Games

03. A Night out in Monaco

04. The Aftermath and a Flight to Austria

05. Snappy

06. One Step at a time

07. Celebrations new

08.

1K notes · View notes

trashforbarzal · 1 month ago

Text

You Were Right There All Along | Mat Barzal

summary: you've been harbouring an embarrassing crush on your best friends brother since the moment you laid eyes on him in the 8th grade. during a drunken game of truth or dare with all your friends, mat finds out your secret. but when things start changing between you and mat, you're unsure how to navigate the new dynamic.

[word count] 4.8k

a/n: the end of 2024, I put out a poll asking which players you wanted to see my write for (that I haven’t done yet) and mat barzal was a clear winner! it took me a hot minute to figure out what I wanted to do for him, but as soon as I settled on this it was a done deal. hope yall love it 🤭

🎵 stargazing by myles smith

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you absentmindedly trace a droplet of condensation, following it's dewy trail as it slowly trickles down your glass bottle of beer.

your friends loud conversation and even louder laughter is all but faded to the background as you fiddle with the bottle in your hands—lost in the smell of the beach still lingering in your air dried hair, and the heat of the bonfire warming your legs from a few feet away.

summer is and always will be your favourite time of year. not necessarily for the overwhelming canadian heat—although, that is a bonus—but rather than for the fact that it's the time of year when everyone gets to be together again.

your friends, who seem to now live all over the place, all come back to toronto for the majority of the summer months every year, without fail. so instead of battling through time changes, uni classes and hockey games, you all rent a place up in muskoka and just be with one another.

the days always consisting of too much sunshine—which inevitably leads to mat getting sunburnt and whining until you're rubbing aloe into his red, crispy skin—sandy toes and the overwhelming smell of chlorine and tanning oil, and nights consisting of s'mores, seltzers and stupid horror movies the guys insist are masterpieces.

it's perfect—and tiring, which means this is the time of night were, combined with three or four beers after a delicious dinner, your vision starts to get a little blurry and you begin curling in on yourself—campfire chair almost buckling in protest.

not that the creaking noises stop you from trying to ball up further though, half tucked under one of the designated bonfire blankets mat keeps in the back seat of his truck.

"truth or dare, y/n?"

liana's half slurred voice pulls you away from your condensation coated beer, and across the fire where your best friend sits, mirroring you position—minus the throw and double the drinks.

she's got an excited glint in her gaze, letting you know that she's enjoying the party game way too much for almost 1 in the morning. but she's not the only one, because most of your friend group is in the same boat.

you take a sharp breath, a playful look of contemplation pulling at your features. shifting slightly in your chair, you wince. "truth?"

liana snorts, "you sound unsure."

"yeah, well after danielle dared austin to chug hot sauce i've been unsure about everything." you physically shiver at the memory of your good friend, and upmost dare devil, turning beat red as the franks red hot coated his throat.

it took him 20 minutes and four glasses of milk to even begin returning to a normal state.

danielle, your other good friend, snickers from behind the rim of her beer next to liana. "okay, dramatic—it was a half a shot." she corrects, shooting you a teasing side eye.

"all the same." you chime, waving dismissively in their direction—lightheartedly and gently, making the two drunk cackle queens almost loose it. and obviously the sound of them laughing gets the group going, because you're all seagulls, truly.

after a giggly beat, liana shushes you between small giggles. "okay, shut up everyone. i'm trying to think."

"god this could take awhile," mat's cheeky remark doesn't go unnoticed by you, half because he's sitting beside you and the other half because he's so far from a whisper that it's almost embarrassing.

but considering one of mat barzal's favourite things in the entire world is annoying his sister, you think his volume level is completely intentional.

"fuck you, mathew." liana spits, her eyes closed and fingers to her temples like she's a physic rather than your best friend trying to conjure up a silly truth or dare question.

the sound of mat's familiar and joyful chuckle has your stomach swirling, your gaze naturally flickering over until you're looking at a sunburnt, eye crinkled smiling mat.

he catches your gaze, and like the cheeky bastard he's always been, mat winks. it's so quick and natural that you almost don't catch it—but who are you kidding? of course you catch it.

because for as long as you can remember, anything your best friends older brother does catches your attention. whether he's simply just walking past you in the barzal childhood house while you're coming back from the bathroom, or throwing popcorn at you from the other end of the couch while liana and his parents aren't looking during movie nights—mat barzal has always been in your head.

it started the day you came home after school with liana—both of you young faced and frizzy hair—and mat was sitting at the kitchen table, homework sprawled out all around him. you remember freezing in the archway, feet stuck to the ground as you stared at a sophomore mat, long grown out hair and braces adorning his face.

you don't remember how long you were caught in the embarrassing, lovey dovey stare, but you do remember the polite smile he sent you, and the elbow liana dug into your ribs to get your attention.

years past and the initial crush you blossomed for mat never dimmed—no, if anything it exploded. for the longest time you couldn't even be close to him without getting flustered, which really wasn't ideal. so with lots of time and practice, you learned to mask it.

which thank god, because otherwise that hot, casually wink would've sent you to an early burial.

your response is lame, because you're just a girl who, although may seem casual about it on the outside, is still freaking out on the inside—you roll your eyes playfully.

it only makes matters worse because mat smirks.

your body flashes with heat. pulling your legs away from your chest, you attempt at crossing your legs underneath the throw blanket, which only gets you tangled in the islanders branded material, before it completely falls to the ground.

before you can even blink, mat is picking up the blanket and covering your legs again. "don't go throwing my precious blanket into the fire now, tater tot." he teases, big hands tucking the blanket between your thigh and the seat. fucking hell.

oh yeah, and of course the torture doesn't just stop there because he's also the only one who calls you tater tot.

tater tot because the very first breakfast you had after a sleepover at the barzal house in 8th grade, you half choked on a tater tot. liana had been too busy snickering and recording your coughing, red face, leaving mat to pat your back until you calmed down.

the most humbling experience of your life, quite possibly.

"thinking about me choking again?" you prompt with a quirked eyebrow, flicking an imaginary piece of lint of the blanket in an attempt to look casual. you look back at mat, "such a perv."

mat takes his bottom lip between his teeth, laughing breathily through the hold. just as he goes to respond, danielle's loud voice echos over the casual conversation of austin and your other friend mark, and the cracking fire.

"oh!" she looks like there's a floating light bulb over her head. "how about..." danielle trails off devilishly, leaning across her navy camp fire chair to cup a hand around lianas ear.

"what?" marcus wheezes, "I feel like that's not allowed."

"technically it is," austin shrugs lazily before taking a slow gulp of his beer, foam sticking to his moustache before he licks it away.

"whatever."

liana gasps loudly, "oh my god, yes!" your best friend, clearly pleased with whatever question danielle has conjured up, sits forward in her chair—looking as if she's trying to bewitch you through the glow of the flames.

you give a half curious, half anxious look as you wait for liana to continue—because of course she paused for dramatic affect.

you already know mat is rolling his eyes at his sisters antics.

"okay, y/n...who did you have a crush on in high school."

the question seems innocent enough to the majority of the group—harmless, even—but you feel like you've just been hit in the head with a damn baseball.

because obviously danielle and liana know about your crush on mat. you can barley keep secrets to save your life, and if you didn't tell someone about the feelings you'd been—still are—harbouring for the eldest barzal sibling, you surely would've imploded.

you're kind of just stuck right now. mouth opening and closing like a fish while your two best friends smirk and laugh across the fire pit.

beside you, mat steals a glance at your side profile, and at the sight of your blank expression, his posture goes ridged. "liana," mat says her name in a warning—in a way that only an older sibling could.

"don't liana me! come on it's a good question." she giggles, a small hiccup following as she falls back into her camping chair, her loose crop top shifting and giving everyone a view of her sparkly belly button piercing.

you can't be mad at her or danielle—or the stupid question, for that matter. you know they're drunk, and they're filter is gone, and they're is no ill intent behind the stupid game. but your heart still pounds and your hands are clamming up like crazy.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to find your words. "it's really not," you half mumble, trying to make your tone as light hearted as possible? as you can feel all your friends curious eyes on you.

mat's eyes on you.

but liana, who is unable to catch the edge to your tone, continues to dig your grave—and this time, coldly shooting you in the process. "y/n, trust me when I say that nobody here cares that you're totally down bad for my brother! just say it."

her words are half slurred and barley audible but it feels like they were screamed from a roof top.

"what did you just say?" mat asks, seeking confirmation to the words that, he too, heard just fine.

but of course he's asking his half way gone sister to repeat herself, because the bomb she just dropped quite literally turned everything on its head.

you don't dare look over at mat. you can't see his face right now, not when you're sure he's in a state of horror while he digests the new elephant in the room—the elephant being your deepest secret, lingering in the air between you all like a pest.

it takes liana one look at your frozen face and tense shoulders for her breath to hitch, falling back into her rickety camp chair again as she realizes what she just blurted out to the entire group.

"wait, fuck my tongue isn't working right," she swallows, guilt lacing her eyes as she blinks hopelessly. "I didn't mean to say that."

the tension lingers in the air, sitting heavy and weaving through the dwindling flames. nobody really knows what to say, especially liana—her sobriety slowly creeping back in as she wallows in further guilt.

you nod in her direction, quick but soft, to let her know that you know you're not mad. fucking mortified and embarrassed, but not mad. you couldn't be. not when it's been the other way around between you both many times—like the time you blurted out that liana had snuck out to meet up with her boyfriend in highschool in front of mat and their mom.

a beat passes before somebody clears their throat awkwardly—austin probably—and then mentions something about roasting spider dogs. it seems to momentarily do the trick, and your friends easily fall back into their usual banter, stabbing raw hot dogs on their wooden sticks to cook.

"i'm gunna grab another drink." you push the throw off your legs, not sparing a glance towards mat as you get off your chair, making the short walk to the sliding back door of the air bnb.

as soon as the door closes behind you, and your left in the silence of the dim kitchen, you cover your face with trembling hands.

"shit," you curse hopelessly, skin burning with embarrassment, "shit, shit, shit."

dragging your hands down your cheeks, you resemble a decaying zombie—hell, you feel like one too. a combination of despair and fear and everything in between sits hot and heavy in your chest, while your best friends playful said words echo through your head.

you didn't look at mat after she practically told him that you're in love with him, for obvious reasons, but you could feel him.

feel the way his spine straightened and his shoulders rolled back in a tense pause. you only picture the way his gaze would’ve narrowed in his sisters direction, plump lips parting in shock as he listened.

he has to be angry, right? or worse, he's not angry but instead he's pitiful.

god, the thought of that is somehow worse, and another curse passes through your lips.

you've got use to living in mat's shadows—or so you thought—keeping your feelings for him buried deep down to not upset the steady stream between you, your best friend and her older brother.

so much hard work from the time you were 13 to now...all for what? for your embarrassing crush to get revealed in a drunken game of truth or dare. a secret that is surely to disrepute the calm of your friendship with mat.

you never wanted messy. and now, here you are.

the door slides open behind you, the sound making you spin on your heels just to see mat enter the kitchen. unfortunately for your already racing heart, mat barzal looks glorious.

his dark hair is at the perfect length to tuck behind his ears, but always falls away because it's not quite long enough. and although he's sunburnt, the colour on his face makes him look beautiful.

he's wearing a pair of board shorts and one of those earth rag sweaters you can buy at carnivals, one that he's given you many times over the years when you're shivering on board walks or sitting on boats without a second thought.

your eyes meet, and you groan, hands falling to your sides in defeat. "oh no, you followed me."

mat walks right up to you, bare feet padding on the tiles because he insists that in the summer he doesn't need shoes—tell that to him everytime you're pulling thorns from the bottom of his foot, which inevitably happens at least once a summer.

his brows draw down towards his nose, like he can't believe the words that came out of your mouth—as if those are the words he can't believe out of everything he's heard tonight.

"of course I followed you," mat says, tone his usual mixture of firm but also toeing the line of playful.

confusion bubbles in your veins, eyes narrowing on his seemingly calm and carefree expression as he looks at you. looking at you how he always does—like your friendship just didn't get pushed off the deep end.

"are you mad?"

mat's furrow deepens, but the faintest ghost of a smile graces his mouth. "why would I be mad?"

your lips part, close, and part again as you attempt to collect your scrambled thoughts. you quickly cross you arms—some kind of defensive attempt that only feels silly, because hello? it's mat—and just as fast they're back at your sides.

and then, the scrambled word vomit ensues in the form of a run on, stuttering sentence, if you can even call the words you're hyperventilating out a scentence. "well—because—did you not hear—I used to—"

mat, ever the steady stone in your life, gently cuts you off, big and warm hands squeezing the meat of your biceps. "slow down," he commands gently, "take a breath."

and like a trained puppy, you do—inhaling sharply through your nose and letting it all out in a shaky exhale through your lips, mat's hands on your body for the entirety of it, which you're chalking up to him just being too kind for his own good.

he nods approvingly, "okay good now, one thing at a time y/n. my minds kind of all over the place here." mat admits with a breezy chuckle, knees bent just enough so he's peering into your eyes.

it makes your knees feel weak.

"your minds all over the place?" you repeat incredulously, "my deepest secret was just spewed out—a secret that very much involves you, by the way—and now i'm totally freaking out."

despite mat's firm grip on your arms, you manage to drag a hand down your face again, a high pitched whine muffled beneath your palm as you do so. after a pause, you look back into his gentle gaze, "i've definitely creeped you out, haven't I? I mean, god this is just the worst."

he shakes his head, "you could never creep me out ."

"well you should be creeped out," you breathe lightly, "hell, you should be scared, mat. seriously this is like stalker level type shit."

"it's not," he laughs.

you gnaw the inside of your cheek, "this is the part were you let me down, right?"

mat takes a deep breath, "y/n."

"oh god...just say it. I've had enough drinks for the guy i've had a crush on since the 8th grade to reject me so I don’t not curl up in a ball and die." you pause, "actually, that may still happen I haven't decided yet-"

"y/n."

the way he says your name has you pausing.

you swallow, throat bobbing anxiously. "mat."

"just....stop rambling and hear me out for a second, okay?"

you groan, fully ready to get rejected and spend the rest of your life pretending it never happened. you can already picture it—mat, happy on his wedding day with some model blonde, while you sit in a meaningless row. watching. single. and very much still in love with your best friends older brother.

regardless, you nod. "okay."

mat's eyes dart all over your face, assessing every single part of your expression. you barley notice the way he's looking at you, not when you can feel his fingers pulsing on your arms.

he licks onto his bottom lip, a hushed curse following suit as mat pulls his arms off your skin.

you want to frown, but you refrain, focusing your attention on mat as he grips the back of his burnt, thick neck. he looks almost distressed? or maybe nervous? and it makes you want to comfort him. god, even on the brink of rejection you still want to coddle the man.

after a beat, mat's hands falls back to his sides, eyes meeting yours once again. he doesn't look anxious for himself, but rather for you—and that only makes you want to spiral.

but then—

"If I was to tell you that i’m in love with you, would that freak you out or could we talk about it?"

you blink.

and blink again.

"I—what—you? are you kidding? I—don't know—mat."

"this feels a lot like you freaking out."

"no! i'm as cool as a cucumber," the way your voice cracks says otherwise.

mat snickers, because he doesn't need your voice to crack for him to know that you're most definitely freaking out. "yeah, okay cause that's so you."

he takes a step impossibly closer to you, toes almost touching yours.

your breath catches, head tilting back so you're able to keep eye contact. "mat..." it's a warning from you, one that says if he's not serious about this, he needs to stop.

but mat doesn't stop. he doubles down.

"I love you, y/n."

you shiver and press a shaky hand to the center of your forehead, attempting to at least ground yourself. "what the actual hell is going on right now?" you mutter to yourself.

"breathe baby."

the pet name slips off mat's tongue so easily that his words have the opposite affect on you—you're so far past trying to breathe that you're on the brink of dying.

"oh my god, i'm going to pass out."

he laughs again, breezy and light. "you're not."

"I'm not sure about that."

mat gently takes ahold of your face, keeping your chin tilted upwards and in his direction. "hey...." he trails off, a playful edge to his tone and a boyish smile pulling at his lips.

you are so confused that you may just die. "hi?"

"I love you."

you swallow thickly, your mouth so dry that it feels like two sheets of sandpaper rubbing together. "yeah, I got that part," you croak.

"you going to say it back? or are you just going to keep babbling like a fish?"

"a fish?! i'm not a fish."

"it's okay," he shrugs, the slightly calloused pad of his thumb gently brushing over your cheekbone—just once, as if he's trying not to startle you. "you're a cute fish."

shuddering a breath and skin heating up under mat's touch, you gently shake your head—perhaps in disbelief, or perhaps obliviousness. regardless, you keep your wide, glassy eyes open, peering up at mat with a combination of doubt and optimism.

"I still can't tell if you're being serious or if this is some kind of weird dare they've put you up to."

"I would never joke about something like this." mat says quickly, voice hard and leaving no room for argument.

but being the worry wart you are, you can't help but to narrow your gaze, a sure look of skepticism crawling across your face. a look that mat clearly registers, because he's letting out a little sigh—one that's not irritated, but rather knowing.

because mat knows you, and he knows you need to hear him say that he loves you without actually saying those three words.

"okay," he starts hopefully, "what if I told you that i've loved you since you used to wear those above the knee plaid shorts when you were 13. and when your hair used to always be in tangles because you didn't like people brushing it. i've loved you since you asked me to peel your orange for you because the smell on your hands drove you up the wall—it still does."

your jaw goes slack, "oh."

"yeah," mat grins, "oh."

even if you didn't realize it back then, your best friends older brother was looking at you—paying attention to you, in a way most people don't. he remembers your clothes, and your hair and your distaste for the smell of citrus.

but it's more than that. it always has been.

it's mat keeping a blanket in the backseat of his truck because you are always cold, and it's him teaching you the perfect way to toast your marshmallow when you were 14 during a camping trip you took with the barzal family—his knee is touching yours and the fire not being the only reason you’re hot.

it's the first day of summer, swimming in the pool with mat while liana fills up a pitcher of lemonade inside when you were 16, and mat tugging on your wet hair playfully.

it's coming home from the bar on your 19th birthday and piling into a car full of your friends, and mat letting you sit on his lap once you noticed that all the seats are taken.

it’s mat always buys your ice cream, and walks on the part of the sidewalk closest to the road—without second thought—and it's him playing your favourite music anytime he's on aux so that he can hear you sing along.

"that long?" you ask tentatively, wringing out your fingers hopelessly in between your bodies

mat hums, "mhmm hmph."

it's mat crashing your first date with a few of his buddies when you were 15, embarrassing you at the movie theatre until you started tearing up. then immediately feeling bad, and buying you almost one of every treat at the concession stand.

it's mat never approving of your crushes or boyfriends—turning his nose down at them and bumping their shoulders with his roughly on the way by.

it's him warding off every guy at school to stay away from you.

"oh god," you groan, "i'm so stupid."

“you're not stupid.” mat reassures you like it’s second nature. and perhaps it is.

it’s mat making sure that you know it’s your ex-boyfriends loss when they ghost you or leave you stranded at a stupid high school party.

it’s mat who ensures that your skirt isn’t too short, and if some sleaze makes a comment—‘he can fight.’

it’s your best friends older brother who has truly, unarguably loved you all along.

you let out a pathetic laugh, “I should've realized.”

he grins, all boyish and with all his teeth—the sight of that teasing look makes your heart flutter. “you were too infatuated with me to realize.”

“mat!”

he laughs, all loud and proud, head thrown back and exposing the thick column of his throat. “It was soooo obvious by the way,” mat continues to tease once he looks back at you, grin unwavering.

“please,” you beg loosely, eyes fluttering close as you head drops forehead, a lame attempt at hiding from him. “i'm already embarrassed as it is.”

but mat isn’t done—obviously. “always staring at me, and laughing at my shitty jokes. sitting beside me whenever you could.” naturally, he tilts your face back up, giving you a nice view of the admiration swimming in his gaze. “it was so fucking cute. made me wanna kiss you all the time.”

the admission has you feeling shy and flustered, but you don’t back down. not anymore. not when mat barzal is looking back at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars—like you’re the most important thing in his life.

“yeah, well I did all that because I liked when you would tease me, and pinch my leg when you thought no one was looking.”

he nods, once. “I know.”

a beat passes with no words spoken between you. the only thing to be heard is the dull laughter and voices of your friends outside and the consistent humming of the refrigerator in the corner.

you’re still looking at one another, all timid, nervous smiles and loose limbs—glassy eyes for a different reason than tears.

it’s you who breaks the comfortable, belly swooping quiet with a breathy, excited sound. “you're holding my face in your hands! I can't believe this is happening right now.”

mat quirks an eyebrow in question, “this feels like the beginning of another freak out,” he states, “is it another freak out?”

“no.” you say all to quickly.

he grins, “yeah, I think it might be. don't freak out baby-“

“oh my god—baby!”

“it's just me and you,” mat ignores your babble, soothing you with his voice, “nothing has changed.”

“expect that you love me now,” you remind him.

“I told you that i've always loved you, so no, nothings changed—expect now you just know about it.”

it’s then, with those reaffirming words, you realize that you've never been uncomfortable around mat. or scared. or truly embarrassed—not even with this entire situation. because here you are, speaking freely regardless of the circumstances without a second thought. because he's still mat. your mat. never judging or dismissive, and always patient and a listener. and don’t tell liana, but mat barzal is your best friend.

and that, combined with all missed signals and signs from mat, going as far back as you came remember, that you know that he loves you.

and it may of taken you more than a decade to notice—and with a more than a nudge from him—but you’re here now.

“you love me.”

a slow, lazy smirk grows on mat’s face. “I do.”

“I love you.”

“you do.”

“oh my god.” you mutter with disbelief.

“okay, now take a deep breath for me.”

“what? why?”

“because i'm going to kiss you.”

you blink and open and close your mouth like a baby bird—completely taken back, in the best, hottest possible way. “fuck me,” you curse in shock.

“not right now baby.” mat’s sly remark comes instantly, already leaning in, in search of the lips he’s been thinking about kissing since he was 15.

“god, you're such a loser—“

his mouth is on yours before you can even finish your sentence, and you accept the interruption with open arms. your hands catch up before you mind does, moving on their own accord and sliding up mat’s strong chest, over his collarbones until your cupping his neck.

mat smiles against your lips at the feeling of your nails digging into his sunburnt neck, and your tongue easily gliding with his. one of mat’s hands makes home against the back of your head, scratching at your scalp absentmindedly while his other hand drags you closer.

it’s smooth, and easy and perfect.

it’s just you and mat, held together but the same thing that’s always had you drawn to one another.

undeniable love.

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trashforbarzal · 1 month ago

Text

wrapped around your finger

luca fantilli x fem! reader (ft. umich hockey team and gfs!!)

warnings?: cursing, alcohol, unprotected sex (p in v, public sex, spanking, choking (not really but kinda?), hair pulling, happy ending🥳

masterlist

“are yall ready yet?” rutger yells from the foyer.

“yes one second.” you yell back, deciding against the extra setting spray. it wasn’t hot outside, it’s not like you were going to sweat it off.

“we gotta go, i want a good view.” luca says grabbing his keys out of the bowl and heading outside. you opted to ride with luca since the group had to split but you always found yourself gravitating to him. the two of you had never spent time alone together but you always had a slight attachment to him, better described as a little bitty crush.

“have you looked at the set list yet?” he asked you, who got lucky and sat shotgun. the group was going to see post malone, and everyone was excited to go and get sloshed.

“i haven’t, i’ll check now.” you simply state opening spotify and reading it out to him.

“fuck this is gonna be so good.” he says, excitement lining his tone.

“does this venue id?” tyler asks from the backseat.

“no.” you answer quickly.

“may i ask how you know this?” luca giggles.

“i’ve been before, got absolutely hammered.” you say, reminiscing the last concert you attended.

“sweet, tj you’re off the hook,” he says patting the ginger on the back.

“thank god. they would’ve thought i was a fucking alcoholic buying all of those drinks.” he says, relief practically oozing out of him. you pulled into the venue closely behind your friends in the other car.

“everyone got their shit?” rutger asks and everyone replies ‘yes’ before shutting his trunk and locking the car. you made your way inside the venue, quickly finding a place to sit with a decent view of the stage. you loved that this tour was all outdoor shows considering the temperature in michigan in the summer was perfect. you laid your towel out and sat down, luca sitting his towel right next to yours.

“you’re gonna be my designated concert buddy?” you ask laughing at the position he sat in.

“sure am, we never really spend any time together so i figured this was a perfect opportunity.” he smiles and you giggle in response, keeping your cheeks from turning too red.

“drinks for the lot of ya!” jacob yells in a tacky british accent, approaching the group with tj, multiple beers and seltzers for everyone in hand.

“a seltzer for you of course.” luca says, handing you one of the drinks he grabbed.

“you just know my drinking habits so well don’t you.”

“we’ve been to parties together and how many times have i held your hair while you threw up?”

“it was twice luca.”

“and? i still did it.” he says and you roll your eyes, a smile spreading in your cheeks. it didn’t take too long for the openers to begin their set. you had never heard of them so you talked through it. you spoke with a couple of the guys and their girlfriends, luca talking to adam on the phone, sipping his beer. you couldn’t help but notice that he chose to sit with you, but you didn’t want to overanalyze. you drank and drank some more, without even realizing it. you were already somewhat drunk by the time the openers were finished, which wasn’t your intention.

“hey y/n.” luca asks nudging you.

“huh?”

“are you already drunk?”

“yep sure am, you?”

“a little buzz, nothing too crazy yet.”

“i am fully prepared to be absolutely fucked tonight.“ you reply, his expression becoming more difficult to read.

when post malone’s set finally began, you cracked a tall boy open, shot gunning it as well as you could. when you sucked the can dry you threw it on the ground out of breath, almost instantly feeling more drunk than before.

“luca.” you said, your words dragging out in a slur.

“what is it?” he asks, shoving his phone back in his pocket, his eyes reading drunk. you step closer to the boy, wrapping your arm around his back, singing whatever song was playing. you felt him do the same, his hand resting just above your ass on your hip.

the two of you sang together loudly and obnoxiously.

“can i try that?” you ask about the beer he held.

“yeah here.” he says, watching you intensely as you took a large sip.

“that is disgusting.” you reply, wiping your face with your hand as he chuckles. you leaned your head on his shoulder as you listened to the loud music. once the song ended you looked at yourself in the snapchat camera, makeup still in place just as you hoped. you couldn’t tell if the alcohol was clouding your judgment but you were feeling things. all the touching and flirting that had gone on over the last hour had your mind spinning.

“fuck i need a bathroom. luca come with me, i don’t wanna get kidnapped.” you say with a glimmer in your eye. a smirk grows on the boys face.

“okay, hey guys i’m taking her to the bathroom.” he yells at the group before you drag him off by his wrist.

“what’s got you in a hurry, we’ll still be able to hear it.” he giggles, jogging after you. you find a single stall, family restroom unoccupied. you open the door and pull the brunette inside with you.

“ive been wanting to get you alone all night.” you admit.

“i can’t say i haven’t felt the same way.” he replies, slurring his words. you two were both plastered but you know what they say about drunk words. in an instant, the boy pushes you by your biceps against the cold cinderblock wall, attaching your lips hastily and sloppily. your hands find their way into his hair, gripping at the strands as he swipes his tongue over your lip begging for entry. you swear hours pass by before he backs away.

“you look so fucking sexy tonight y/n.” he smirks as you two find your way to the sink.

“fuck you make me so horny.” you mutter, squeezing your thighs together as he picks you up and places you on the counter. your short skirt gave him easy access to your throbbing core, running fingers over your soaked panties and sucking them clean.

“god you taste so good.” he smirks, reconnecting your lips again, giving you a taste for yourself. he pulls away with hazy eyes, squatting down quickly and pulling your panties to the side.

“oh my fucking god.” you yell at the contact. his tongue twisted your already swollen bud in circles, sucking and rubbing it in a rhythmic fashion.

“fuck.” you say, gripping onto the boys hair as you finished, quicker than you could’ve imagined. he stands back up, his face soaked in your cum.

“you’re fucking incredible.” he says and you grab him by his shirt, which you unbuttoned hastily after you aggressively reattached your lips. he helped you finish the job as he pulled away, unbuttoning his denim shorts and pulling his throbbing cock out as quickly as he could. you stared at his tip as it leaked with precum and the pure size of him. he rubbed himself harder with a few strokes before looking back up at you.

“fuck me luca. please.” you beg and he instantly caves, pushing himself into you, his hands pressed against the mirror as he pushed into you for the first time. you moaned at the sensation. his tip hit the sweet spot buried deep inside you without even trying.

“god.” you moan out and he grunts. he thrusts into you deep and hard as he pounds into you at a decent speed. your moans snapping a high pitch after the first few thrusts. the music was quickly drowned out by the sounds of your yelps in a bathroom with poor acoustics.

“such a good girl taking me like this.” he smirks at you.

“you feel so good, god lu.” you say, your fingers gripping the hair on the back of his head.

“do you think anyone can hear me?” you ask.

“i fucking hope so.” he smirks, sloppily landing his lips back on yours as he stretches you out with every thrust.

“get down and bend over for me pretty girl.” he simply requests and you do so, resting your stomach on the edge of the counter. he pushes your skirt up further.

“look at that ass, god damn.” he says spanking you once before placing a gentle hand on your, now bright red, ass cheek pushing himself back into you. he grabs onto your hips pulling you onto him as he thrusts. your eyes roll into the back of your head with overstimulation, your sweaty hand slapping onto the mirror for better stability. he pounds into you at an unforgiving speed, wanting to get a good climax out of it. he wraps his hand around your hair, pulling you up flush against his chest as he continues his quick thrusts into you, turning you from moaning to practically yelling. gently he wrapped a hand around your throat as you looked in the mirror at the two of you. your mascara now smeared around your eyes, his cheeks red and forehead dotted with beads of sweat from the steamed bathroom.

“look at you, taking me so fucking good huh?” he asks, making eye contact with you in the mirror. he bucks into you sharply, a yelp leaving your mouth in an instant. carefully, he picks you back up, placing you on the counter. you could tell by the speed that he was getting closer, but the fact of the matter was that you were even closer. he pushes back into you easily sliding back in, a sensation you could never get used to. the way he hit your sweet spot was almost more intoxicating than all the alcohol you drank that lead you to this moment.

“fuck luca, i’m gonna come.” you moan, your nails digging harshly into his back, your speech broken up by his spastic and deep thrusts. moments later, you feel your body relax as a knot came undone in your abdomen. he fucked you right through your high into his own climax. spilling his seed deep inside you. he pressed his forehead to your chest as the two of you sat, gasping for air for a few moments. he runs his fingers through the salty mix of your climaxes between your legs attempting to somewhat clean you up, his drunk mind not thinking about the toilet paper that sat on the back of the toilet 2 feet away from you. you grab his hand and suck his fingers clean, surprising him and showing him that you swallowed every drop of the nasty mixture.

“fucking god y/n you’re gorgeous, let me help you down.” he says, tucking himself back in his pants, lending his hands for you to hop off the counter. you pull your panties back over your sensitive core, and tug your skirt down.

“lu, can you help me fix my makeup.” you whine, referring to the black streaks that formed around your eyes.

“yes baby, hold still.” he says, your heart fluttering at the pet name. he licks he thumb, gently wiping away the mess from around your eyes.

“how does that look?” he asks as you turn around.

“good enough.” you giggle turning back around.

“luca your hair. i’m sorry.” you giggle as he smiles, wrapping his strong arms around you.

“i don’t care about my hair.” he says as you press your cheek to the warm skin of his chest.

“we should go back.” you say patting him on the chest.

“yeah they’re probably getting suspicious by now.” he giggles, taking your hand and unlocking the door, seeing a long line outside the bathroom. the two of you chuckle as you jog past the impatient people in line, back to your spot on the lawn.

“you missed like 6 songs, where the fuck were you gu- oh.” rutger started before getting a good look at you two.

“what?” you ask.

“oh nothing.” he giggles, whispering to his girlfriend who he stood next to.

“girl where did you go?” franks girlfriend asks, tugging you away from luca’s side.

“i had to uh-“ you start and then turn around to see luca dapping up his teammates, clearly spilling what had gone on in the bathroom, “we fucked.”

“in the bathroom?” jacob’s girlfriend says interrupting.

“yeah we did.” you smirk.

“well was it at least good?” frank’s girlfriend asks.

“oh my god yes. his dick is so big, i don’t think i would wanna fuck anyone else like ever again.” you giggle with them, your drunkness seeping back into your vocabulary.

“you guys would be cute, i see the vision.” she says stepping back and looking at both of you.

“i think we would be too, not to be vain or anything.” you joke.

“go for it babe, luca doesn’t fuck just to fuck. or at least that’s what jacob’s told me. he fucks to date.” she says nudging you on the arm.

“honestly i probably will go for it, let’s see how this goes, hey lu?” you call out, catching his attention instantly. he walks over, hugging you to his side.

“what’s up?” he asks, his thumb grazing over the fabric of your skirt.

“maybe you guys are right.” you laugh and he appears confused. the two of you enjoy the rest of the concert, hugging onto each other and singing your hearts out for the final few songs.

“everyone’s asleep.” luca giggles as you pulled back into the driveway.

“awe look at them so cute.” you reply.

“are you gonna regret what we did tonight?” he asks, his voice in a whisper.

“not in the slightest.” you say placing a hand on his cheek and connecting your lips softly for a moment.

“you have no idea how badly i wanted to hear you say that.” he smiles as you pull away slightly.

“i can’t let anyone else have that dick or that hair. or just that boy in general.” you say locking eyes with him. instead of replying he reconnects your lips once again, the kiss lingering for a what seems like an eternity. an eternity that you hoped would never come to an end.

“we should wake them up.” you whisper on his lips.

“yeah probably.” he smiles, pecking your lips one last time before waking everyone up to come inside.

532 notes · View notes

trashforbarzal · 1 month ago

Text

a proposition: masterlist

poly!marauders

✼: angst | ᕯ: smut

a proposition

a proposition: accepted ᕯ

a proposition: exploration ᕯ

a proposition: a return ᕯ

a proposition: revenge ᕯ

a proposition: a departure ᕯ

a proposition: it’s getting serious ✼ ᕯ

a proposition 8: finale

2K notes · View notes

trashforbarzal · 2 months ago

Note

i know you said a while ago that you’d consider writing for mat barzal but aren’t sure how to go about it and im just up late thinking about how barzy gives me suchhhh best friends to lovers vibes like hanging out ALL the time to the point where everyone assumes you guys are dating anyways, dropping literally everything when either of you needs the other, and things slowly progressing between you guys without either of you realizing it until one day one of your regular sleepovers is filled with so much sexual tension that you end up having crazy sex all over his apartment

closer than close | mat barzal

warnings: friends to lovers, fighting with friends (anthony beauvillier's ex emma simard), sharing a toothbrush (grosser than unprotected p in v IMO), (speaking of!) unprotected p in v, french kissing, booty callllll, sex in unconventional places (against a wall), fingering, dirty talk i guess, allusions to squirting but it's kind of left up in the air so... enjoy!

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader

wc: 3,911

“You’re at Mat’s again?” Emma demands. Her outrage is no surprise to you. Ever since she and Tito broke up, she’s been more and more against your friendship with Mat. Sometimes you think it’s because she’s jealous that you remained friends with Tito’s friend after that ended, but sometimes you think she’s just mad that you’re denying something that isn’t there.

You shrug, untying the long socks from where they’re wrapped in your hair. The curls look good this time, unlike the last time you did heatless curls like this. Mat made fun of you relentlessly when they frizzed all over the place and curled all the wrong ways. “I haven’t left yet,” you reply. “I’ve been here all weekend.”

“Don’t you have work soon?” Emma asks.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m getting ready.” You squeeze a bit of toothpaste onto Mat’s toothbrush and pop it into your mouth. Emma makes a face at you and you make a face back. It’s simple– you forgot your toothbrush and Mat said you could use his. “And then I’ll probably come back. Mat’s injured and I’m bored in my lonely apartment, so we’re keeping each other company.”

Emma mumbles something you don’t catch.

“What?” you press. “What did you say?”

“All of this and you haven’t fucked,” Emma repeats, the look in her eyes growing sharp. “You keep denying it and keep denying that you want Mat and that he wants you, but you’ll spend three straight days at his apartment, sleeping in his bed and using his toothbrush. When are you going to admit that you guys are more than friends?”

“We’re not more than friends, Emma,” you say with a frown. “We’re close, but we’re not that close. I wish you’d stop saying that.”

Emma shakes her head and scoffs. “I have to go. Call me back when you figure things out.”

She hangs up and you frown, taking in the blank screen before you. You take only a split second to revel in confusion before you finish getting ready for the day.

You try to push Emma’s comments out of your head, but they stick with you. You get to work and you’re still thinking about the look on her face through that tiny screen. You’re on your lunch break and start overthinking your friendship with Mat. You’ve always slept in the same bed because it’s easier– you’ve never wanted to mess up the pristinely folded sheets in his guest room. Plus, it’s not like you and Mat cuddle or anything. You stay on your side and he stays on his. You may have woken up with his arm over your stomach once or twice, but that’s a subconscious reaction to the chilly winter air. Mat keeps the apartment insanely cold. It’s not a surprise that his body tried to seek out your warmth. Even as you’re leaving for the day, you’re debating whether or not you should just go home to your own apartment rather than go back to Mat’s.

Your phone chimes with a text. It’s a picture of Mat and a steamer pot on the stove. He’s flashing a thumbs up in the picture and the accompanying message says, Making those dumplings you wanted! Hurry back or I’ll eat them all ;)

That sorts out your plans for the night. You don’t spare a second glance at the phone, nor the blue and orange hearts that you once put next to Mat’s contact name as a joke and never removed.

The thought doesn’t cross your mind again until you’re laying on the couch with Mat, watching a movie before you go to bed. His head is on your lap and you’re carding your fingers through his hair.

“That’s nice,” Mat murmurs.

It’s the first time he’s spoken in a while and it draws your attention to his lips. He’s practically falling asleep on your lap, eyes fluttering and nearly purring like a cat. Just this morning, you said you don’t cuddle with Mat, but here you are. He’s been pretty touchy today, or, maybe, you’re just noticing it more because Emma planted a seed in your mind.

You hum, twirling a strand of Mat’s hair between your fingers. You hope he doesn’t buzz it again. He’s done it twice now and, even though he can pull off the buzzcut, you prefer when his hair is this length.

His lips are plush and pink and, well, Emma declared that you needed to figure it out. One little kiss, a tiny peck… that could be the end of it. You wouldn’t feel a thing, and neither would Mat, and you can tell Emma with absolute certainty that you and Mat are just friends.

You lean down and connect your lips for just a second. There’s no bright moment of realization washing over you, no life-changing feeling accompanied by a choir of angels. You kiss Mat and then you pull away.

He’s got that stupid look on his face, eyebrows raised and lips parted. ��What was that?” Mat asks.

You shrug. “Just wanted to see something.”

Mat seems to buffer. “By kissing me?”

“Yeah. Emma thinks we’re lying to ourselves when we say we’re just friends.”

“Emma… Tito’s ex?” Mat seems caught off guard. “She still thinks we’re hiding something?”

“I mean, she’s not the only one who thinks we’re more than friends. I’ve been thinking about it all day, so I just thought I’d go for it and see if I felt anything.”

Mat frowns and sits up. “You can’t tell something like that just from that measly little kiss you gave me. No one would feel anything from that shit. We have to actually kiss.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest. “Actually kiss? What does that mean?”

“With tongue,” Mat replies. “If you still don’t feel anything after you kiss me with tongue– I’m pretty damn good with my tongue,” he sidebars with a wink, “Then you can tell Emma that she was wrong and you were right.”

“It just sounds like you want to kiss me with tongue,” you tease, squinting at Mat suspiciously.

He grins and wiggles his eyebrows at you. “We’re friends, but that doesn’t mean you’re not pretty,” Mat says. “I’m not against kissing you.”

His words seem laden with a bit of seriousness, even though his smile and eyes are bright and joking. You don’t have the time to probe at that, not before Mat is reaching out and cradling your face in his palm.

His smile is smaller, more gentle. His hand is warm.

When he pulls you in and parts your lips with a pass of his tongue, you feel a splash of dizziness run through your bones. Mat guides you, kissing you deeply. You can feel every curve of his mouth against your own. Almost immediately, you get the feeling that you should be memorizing this and noting the details.

Mat pulls away before you’re ready. “How was that?” he asks.

You blink at him for a moment, mouth opening and closing but not producing sounds.

He starts to laugh. “Speechless, huh?”

Your dumbfounded look turns to a glower. “Don’t brag, Mathew.”

“How can I not?” he teases. He thumbs at the side of your lip, wiping something from your face. “I just kissed you stupid.”

“Whatever,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest and turning back to the TV.

You finish the movie without talking. His arm remains on the back of sofa during the duration of the film. You’ve never been more aware of Mat’s body next to yours, nor the space separating you. His arm is practically around your shoulders, but there are inches between your bodies, and your skin feels like it’s vibrating off of you. You go to bed with Mat, as normal, but in silence. There are miles between you and Mat in his king-size bed and for the first time in a long time, you consider going to the guest room.

The following morning is no better. You’re getting ready for work, packing your things up, making breakfast, and preparing to leave Mat’s apartment for at least the rest of the week. You assume that he’s still asleep, since he doesn’t have PT until the afternoon, but you hear footsteps padding down the hall as you reach the front door. He follows you all the way to the doorframe, resting his hand on the crown moulding and looking down at you.

“Have a good day at work,” Mat mumbles. “Are you coming back here tonight?”

You look away and shrug. “I should probably go home for once.”

Mat is silent for a beat too long. “Okay,” he says simply. “I’ll miss you.” Mat bends down and presses a kiss to your cheek, catching the very corner of your lips. He pats the doorframe and gives you a wave as you start down the hallway. Your first few steps are slow and confused, because what the hell is happening and why did Mat kiss you again, but you feel like running by the time he closes the door behind you.

You’re distracted at work. It’s worse than yesterday. You feel jittery. When you go home at the end of the day, your apartment feels empty. You crinkle your nose and rub your arms, trying to warm up. It’s weird being alone for the night after staying with Mat for a few days. You got really used to being next to him, eating dinner with him, watching stupid shit on the TV while laying on his couch, and sleeping in his bed.

You lay in bed, unable to sleep. You toss and turn, scroll on your phone, try and sleep again, and fail. It’s 2am when your phone vibrates with a text and you check it immediately, hoping for something interesting.

It’s Mat.

‘Miss you :(’, he says. There’s a picture of him pouting into the camera, his bedside lamp turned to the lowest setting, just bright enough that he doesn’t need to use the flash.

Your mouth automatically matches Mat’s. You sigh, zooming in on his tousled hair. You scroll across the picture, lingering on Mat’s bare chest. You stare for much too long. Much too long… to be considered friends. Mat’s kiss has really messed with your mind and now you can’t stop thinking about him and his tongue and his hands and–

You bury your face in the pillow and groan. You don’t bother to change out of your pajamas. You throw on your bathrobe, just to combat the cold, and within fifteen minutes, you’re hitting the buzzer to call up to Mat’s apartment.

“Hello?” Mat’s fuzzy voice comes through the speaker.

Idiot, you admonish in your head. Who answers the buzzer at 2am? Especially when you’re a desirable athlete… God, Mat, you’re so dumb.

“It’s me,” you say. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

You hear the door click, unlocking, and you push your way inside. Your foot taps impatiently as you wait in the elevator, arms crossed over your chest. As the doors open, you spot Mat waiting at his front door, leaning against the frame like he was when you left him this morning.

His face is lined with sleep and there are lines on his chest like he just scratched an itch.

You’re kissing him again as soon as you get close enough. You throw your arms around Mat’s neck and he wraps his arms around your middle, lifting you up until you naturally twine your legs around his waist.

Mat’s kissing you back, moving into his apartment and closing the front door behind him. His bottom lip is between yours. You suck and nibble it, soothing the skin with your tongue after you bite hard enough for Mat to groan. His hands are planted on your behind now, kneading the skin.

“So you’ve been thinking about it too,” Mat breathes out between kisses.

“All day.” Your hands work up into his hair and pull.

Mat shivers and his mouth drops open at the tug of your fingers. He turns toward the wall and pushes you up against it, trapping you with his body and pressing his groin against yours. He’s deliciously hard and you grind down on the bulge in his sweats. Mat moans and separates his lips from your mouth, instead trailing them wetly down your neck.

“Bedroom,” you tell Mat, voice hitching when he leaves a bite on your pulse point.

“Fuck that,” Mat replies. He pushes your shirt up and over your head. “Can’t wait. I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about this.”

“Fucking me against the wall?”

“Having crazy sex with you all over the apartment,” Mat corrects. “You know when you’re about to sleep and then you feel like you’re falling and you wake up?”

“Yeah?” you respond, confused.

“It was like that.” Mat comes back up to kiss your lips. “I’d almost fall asleep and then I’d see you here. I’d see you bent over the kitchen counter or the arm of the sofa. I’d have you against the tile in my shower, then over the sink and I’d wipe all the fog off the mirror so you could watch. You’d be laying on the dining room table and I’d be between your legs, then I’d be sitting at my desk and you’d be between my legs.”

“Sounds tortuous,” you joke.

“It was torture to see you like that and not have you,” Mat says in complete earnest. “That kiss broke a fucking dam for us, I swear.”

“Emma’s going to brag about getting us together,” you say.

“Don’t tell her,” Mat replies simply. “I’m on Tito’s side of the breakup anyway.”

“That’s not how friendship works.”

“Clearly, we don’t have any idea of how friendship should work,” Mat laughs. His eyes are twinkling with mischief. “I’m about to fuck you against the wall and we’re ‘just friends.’”

“We’re going to have to talk about that,” you tell Mat.

“Now?” he asks, his middle two fingers finding your clit over your panties and rubbing.

“After,” you confirm. You pull him back in for a kiss and roll your hips into Mat’s hand. “After, for sure.”

Mat chuckles into your mouth. He shifts your panties to the side and slides his middle finger into your cunt. “Wow, look at how you’re taking me,” Mat says. His nose knocks against yours when he turns his eyes toward your core. “So wet. Bet you taste good, too.”

You whine when he removes his finger from your entrance, annoyed. That feeling vanishes shortly after you’re emptied, once Mat brings his finger to his mouth and hollows his cheeks around the digit. Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open, drool pooling on your tongue.

Mat smirks. His finger leaves his mouth with a pop and he then licks both his middle and ring finger, wetting them and bringing them back to your core. Mat leans in as he presses both fingers into your hole, his tongue sliding against yours as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“Oh my God,” you say to yourself when Mat’s thumb comes into contact with your clit. If his kiss was stuck in your head all day after just a few seconds with his tongue in your mouth, then this moment will be seared into the blank space behind your eyelids for weeks.

“Just me,” Mat teases. He kisses over your neck, sucks on the corner of your jaw, and gently takes your earlobe between his teeth. He tugs, then drops the soft skin and breathes cool air over the skin just beneath your lobe.

You shiver and throw your head back against the wall, baring your neck to Mat. He takes full advantage of it, but the location of his mouth is the least of your worries. You’re too preoccupied with the way his fingers are dancing inside of you. You feel your insides jump when Mat comes into contact with your g-spot, playing with the soft spot fixed at a seemingly random and elusive point on your inner walls, biting down on your lower lip to stop an embarrassing sound from escaping you.

Mat’s hands are busy– the one inside of you and the other planted on your side, helping hold you up against the wall– so he can’t remove your bottom lip from the confines of your teeth. Instead, he hovers right in front of your face, just close enough to kiss, but he doesn’t make the move to unite.

You get the message, dropping your bottom lip in favor of kissing Mat’s. He smiles into the kiss and squeezes a third finger inside of you. You can feel his muscles tensing, the rippling of his forearm and bicep traveling all the way up to the place where his arm meets his torso.

“I don’t want to come like this,” you declare in a high voice, shaking a bit as Mat brings you right to the edge and nearly pulls you over. “I want to come on your cock, Mat, fuck me.”

“You can’t give me two?” Mat asks.

“It’s not that I can’t,” you whine. “I just want you inside me.” You dig your nails into Mat’s upper back when his fingers continue to piston against your sweet spot. “Fuck, Mat.”

Mat slows his fingers and relents. “Hold on,” he says. He presses you further into the wall, no space between your bodies.

You tighten your grip around his neck and lock your ankles around his waist.

Mat pushes his sweats and underwear down. They fall to his ankles and he tugs at the crotch of your panties again, making sure to tuck them securely out of the way so that he can guide his cockhead to your dripping center.

You don’t realize that your nails are creating red half-moon crescents on the fleshy skin covering his traps until Mat captures your wrists between the fingers of one hand– his thumb and forefinger around one and his other three around the other– and holds them against the wall above your head. You whimper and tilt your hips forward, pulling him closer by the linked ankles at the small of his back.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t know you were so desperate that you’d claw me up,” Mat says. Humor is laced throughout his tone. He brings his shoulders up and tenses them, then releases the tension. His cock pushes inside you all the same, despite the discomfort he might be feeling. You barely hear him, anyway– not with his cock dragging against your walls and kissing your insides like that.

Your mind is stalling, feeling like it’s trapped by the grip that Mat has on your wrists. “Mat,” you keen, trying to bounce on his length as best you can while hovering against the wall and contained by Mat’s body.

He presses his lips against your cheek before shifting his hips forward and drilling into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your mouth opens in a gasp and Mat flicks his tongue against yours. His fingers squeeze your wrists with each thrust– the pleasure from his tip knocking into your cervix plus the pressure against your skin, arms raised up above your head, pairs together in a way that had your mind spiraling.

The noises that come from Mat’s mouth don’t help– he’s grunting and groaning and his breath is heavy. He’s never silent, never, and you know that if you close your eyes, you could get off to his noises alone.

“You feel so good,” Mat compliments in a low voice. His cooing tone fills your ears like how a sink drain sucks all the water away, creating a whirlpool and gulping for more. “Tight and wet and squeezing me, fuck, we should’ve been doing this for ages.”

You nod your head in assent, eyes shut tightly as a coil of pressure screws and tightens in your abdomen. Mat’s words dissolve in to babbles, the blood rushing to your head. Your pulse booms in your ears as he talks on. Mat’s hand digs into your side, the soft flesh of your waist giving in order to make room for his fingertips as he bucks wildly into your heat. Your slick and the slide of his cock creates a squelching, clapping sound each time that his pelvis collides with yours. Your clit, swollen and aching to be touched, brushes against Mat’s abdomen with just enough friction to send you over the edge, quivering in his arms and arching your back as your climax crashes over your being and overtakes you. Your jaw practically pops with how wide and unhinged it becomes, strangled and drawn-out mewls spurring Mat on while you come in his arms and on his cock.

Almost simultaneously, Mat’s head dips and his hips stutter, white cum shooting from his slit and painting your walls. Mat continues fucking you through your aftershocks and his own, with gravity taking effect almost immediately– as he draws his cock out of you, just to shove it back in, the mixture of your cum drips from your hole and creates a mess that you and Mat will notice in the morning and gape at before breaking out the cleaning supplies.

You breathe together. Mat’s movements slow and he crowds your body, plastering himself against you. His heaves are wet against your neck, drinking air back in. As Mat catches his breath, he starts to mouth against your skin, planting a series of kisses along your collarbone and shoulder.

“Oh my God,” you repeat again.

Mat’s grip on your wrists relinquishes and your arms drop to his shoulders. His cock slips from your pussy as it softens, but he places his hands again on your ass and keeps your legs around his middle. He hums and kisses your cheek, then your mouth. The kisses are less rushed and frenzied now, matching the original kiss he gave you that filled your mind and stayed there.

“Take off work tomorrow so we can fuck all over the apartment,” Mat suggests between kisses. He’s finally on the move again, making his way to the bedroom with you in his arms. “That was only one of the ideas I had.”

“I can’t take off work for sex,” you reply. Mat lays you on the bed and you pull him down with you. “But I can stay all weekend again.”

“Yes,” Mat whispers in a celebratory voice, grinning widely when he pulls away. He disintangles himself from your arms and legs, collapsing onto the mattress beside you, in your normal spots. “Do I need to go and buy a toothbrush for you so you don’t have to use mine?”

“Get one of the good ones while you’re at it,” you tease. “Use that big hockey budget and get me one of those electronic ones that’s a waterpick when you swap the head out.”

“Careful,” Mat says. “If I buy that one, I’ll start using your toothbrush.” He pulls the covers over your bodies and holds his arm out so that you can cuddle into his side.

For the first time while awake, you curl up with your head on his chest and throw your leg over his thigh. Your hand comes up to cover his heart and Mat presses a kiss to your head.

“We’re not going to be just friends after this,” Mat tells you.

You laugh. “No, I don’t think we will.”

625 notes · View notes

trashforbarzal · 2 months ago

Text

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝟒 𝐮 - 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ synopsis: in which you'll always be jack's only love, even if he might not be yours

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ warning: angst, unrequited love, happy ending !! swearing, underage drinking, slight nsfw but no direct scene, read at your own risk NOT PROOF READ

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ pairing: jack hughes x luke!bestfriend!reader

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ disclaimer: two idiots in love is probably my new favourite thing to write cause why are you so stupid??? also the end is kinda wack, but i'd totally be down to make a part 2!!

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ wc: 13.3k

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ reader is born in summer !!

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ inspiered by way too many songs that i can't even remember anymore. i'd say the main ones are party for u (obvi), it ain't me babe, cool about it, back to friends,fresh out the slammer, and ordinary. struggled so hard to pick one for the title but yeah

════ ⋆summer 2017⋆ ════

➻❥ detroit, mich

you remember the first day you ever met the hughes family like it was yesterday. you were a month away from starting high school, and freshly fourteen. you were sitting on the ground of the living room with your friends, all of the attention on grace as she read her text messages out loud. the boy she had crush on for almost a year now finally had the guts to speak to her, and you were all freaking out.

you all gave your input about what she should answer him. it was pure chaos, and if your brother - Jeremy - was home, he would've stormed down the stairs from his bedroom and tell you to keep quiet. but he was out with his friends, and your parents were outside doing whatever.

all of the windows in the house were open, meaning you could hear all of the birds singing, cars driving near your house, people walking in the street. but it was pretty peaceful on your street, you lived in a cul-de-sac after all, so not many people actually came on your street.

that was until you heard a car drive by, and suddenly loud voices could be heard from across the street. you could hear two people laughing, someone whining and who you guessed was their parents scolding them. and a minute later you and all of the girls were kneeling in front of your living room window, trying not to be caught staring by the people outside.

your eyes landed on the 'sold' sign on their yard. they must be the new family. all six of you watched as the parents started taking stuff out of the trunk of their car, when a u-haul truck arrived by their house. then, you spotted the three boys. the oldest one, you guessed since he was the tallest and wore umich gear, shook his head laughing as his mom handed him a couple of boxs. then you spotted the smallest one of them, he was pouting as his father ruffled his hairs slightly before he walked over to also grabbed a box from his mom.

and then your eyes landed on him. his skin was tan, more than his brothers, and his sun bleached dirty blond hair caught your attention. he was wearing a compression shirt, making his muscles even more defined as he also grabbed boxes from the back of the car.

"who the hell is that?" alyssa asked, and you all knew who she was talking about.

"no clue." you answered, your eyes still looking at him. then all of the sudden, the boy looked over at your house, almost like he could feel all your eyes on him. you all quickly ducked out, letting out giggles as grace exclaimed that her boy had responded.

everyone all rushed over to her phone, excited to see what he had said. but you said still, coming back up to take another peek at the family. the boys were now shoving each other as they made their way to the front door, their laughs echoing through the neighbourhood.

"looks like your house is gonna be new hangout spot, huh?" maddy blushed from besides you, she hadn't gone with the rest of the group either. you looked over with a blushing smile, as the two of you let out giggles.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

the next day, you were helping your parents bring in the groceries into the house, you were still wearing your baggy sleeping shirt and shorts. your hair was still up in a messy bun, and you had no idea what you looked like. you had gotten woken up by your brother banging at your door, and pretty much got dragged out of bed to come help.

"hi!" you heard a voice say as you brought a bag inside, you didn't bother to turn around at the voice, guessing it was probably one the neighbours coming to talk to your mom. but when you went back outside, your parents were talking with who you recognized as the family who had moved in yesterday. their boys were playing hockey in their driveway, pushing and slashing each other.

"oh, this is our daughter, y/n! sweetie, come say hi." your mom said as you made your way outside. you went and stood next your brother, smiling shyly at the two adults in front of you. "this is ellen and jim, they moved in across the street yesterday."

"hi." you said politely to the two adults, who returned your greeting with one of their own and warming smile.

"y/n/n's starting high school next months, just like your youngest." your dad announced, and their faces light up.

"how fun is that! at least he'll have a familiar face besides his brother at school."

"luke!" the dad, jim, called out, making the three boys stop their play. they all looked across the street, and the little one dropped his stick before making his way across the street to your driveway.

"luke, this is y/n, she's starting high school next month too!" ellen said nodding over at you. there was no way this kid was the same age as you. he looked 12 at max.

"hi." the boy said, flashing you an awkward smile.

"hello."

three days later, you and luke became attached by the hips. and that's how you became an honorary hughes sister. jim and ellen had welcomed you as their own, and their door was always opened for you.

════ ⋆fall 2017⋆ ════

➻❥ detroit, mich

"this is so complicated for no reason!" luke groaned as he let his head fall on the table, making you let out a giggle. the two of you were sitting at the hughes' dinning table, your math homework opened on the table. the house was currently empty, his parents had gone to grocery store, quinn was at university and jack and alex were still at the arena.

"it's really not that hard, lu, you're the one making it too complicated." you laughed, making the boy next to you look at you like a deer in headlights.

"easy for you to say, you're like the smartest person in our grade." he mumbled.

"that's not true."

"it totally is!" he said again, making you roll your eyes. you were both to say something else, when the front door opened and suddenly loud yelling filled your ears. jack was home.

you had never really talked with the middle hughes, always too flustered to say any sentence longer than two words. you also sucked at holding eye contact with the boy. just the thought of his eyes on you made you blush.

"lukey!" jack yelled as he made his way into the house. a couple of his friends were following behind, laughing and hitting each other. "i see your girlfriend's over again."

"i'm not his girlfriend."

"she's not my girlfriend." the two of you said at the same as alex walked over to you and gave you a small side hug. you had gotten close with the billet boy, he always listened to your drama whenever luke simply just did not care, and honestly alex was quite interested in the 9th grade drama.

"yet." jack smirked as he walked over to the fridge. a couple of the boys greeted the two of you before they all disappeared into the basement.

"i'm really sorry about him. he's an idiot." luke apologized, slightly embarrassed.

"it's okay, lu."

"it's just weird, 'cause you have like the hots for him or whatever and then he keeps saying shit like that." the boy grumbled, his words making your eyes grow wide.

"i-i don't have the hots for your brother." you stuttered, making luke look at you like a crazy person.

"right, and i'm good at maths." he said, his tone filled with sarcasm.

"i don't!"

"it's fine, y/n/n. like all of the girls at school are like in love with him, i know all your friends are. and you get all blushy and shy around him, i don't need to be sherlock holmes to figure out you think he's pretty too."

and it was never brought again between the two of you. as the weeks went by, you slowly started becoming more and more comfortable around jack, forming almost full sentences. it was embarrassing really, how flustered you got around him. and what made it worse is that he knew. he never said anything about it, but that same smirk always appeared on his face whenever he talked to you, like he was getting off on seeing you a complete mush.

until christmas came around. you had spent most your winter break over at the hughe's house since most of your friends were on vacation or out of town visiting family. not to mention the huge drama going on at the moment. which is how you ended up sitting with luke at their kitchen island. ellen had made you all some pancakes before she and jim left to go run some errands. quinn was at world juniors, and alex had gone home for a bit, meaning it was just you two and jack in the house.

"wait, so let me get this straight." luke started, placing his fork down as you looked over at him. "anna's had this crush on kaiden since like 5th grade. but he likes alyssa, and she likes him too, but she knew anna like him first." he continued, waiting for your nod of approval. "so now anna and alyssa aren't talking. and everyone's picking sides? that's so stupid."

"that's what i'm saying! like yeah, whatever, anna's liked him forever, but he literally never paid any attention to her. like i love her to death, but she seriously needs to move on. plus, kaiden and alyssa are so cute together."

"you need to find someone to distract her from..." luke started, but you quickly stopped listening to his words as jack made his way down the stairs. luke's back was facing the stairs, so he had no idea you weren't looking directly at him anymore.

jack was wearing nothing but plaid pj pants loosely around his hips, his calvin klein boxers peeking slightly above his pants. his hair was a complete mess, but you didn't care. he looked amazing. he was scrolling on his phone as he made his way over to the kitchen.

"morning." he smiled as he walked over to his little brother and ruffled his hair. luke was quick to push him away. jack then grabbed a plate of his own and sat on the stool next to his brother. "y/n/n." he nodded as he passed you. everyone called you that, you weren't y/n, you were y/n/n, but the way jack said it, the way each letter rolled off his tongue made your stomach turn.

your eyes were still glued to him, and that's when luke realized what was going on. his knee collied with yours under the island, making you wince slightly.

"ow! you idiot!" you exclaimed loudly as he hit your funny bone. you smacked his arm as jack let out a small chuckle.

"lukey, what'd you do to the poor girl?"

"nothing!"

"liar. keep your legs in your space you giant." you grumbled, making luke roll his eyes slightly.

"so, what's going on with anna and alyssa?" jack said after a slight moment of silence. you and luke locked eyes for a slight second, you were silently asking him if he was okay with his brother intruding on your alone time.

"stupid shit is what's going on." luke laughed when the two of you silently agreed on sharing your gossip session with his brother. that's always what you called, just luke's brother. you didn't like using the term 'older brother' because there was something about it that just made him even more attractive to you. so he was just luke's brother.

you and luke spent the next hour debriefing jack on all the drama in your friend group that had taken place since the beginning of high school. you hated to admit it, but things had changed a lot between all of you, and it made you sad. you then realized that maybe all the issues were why you always spent so much with luke. you were never apart of the drama, and you hated always having to pick sides between your friends.

being friends with luke and his friends was easy. they all got along, sure they argued every now and then, but it never lasted more than a couple of hours. you always had a good time with them, and there was never any tension between anyone. sure most of them were guys, but there were always 2 or 3 other girls there, which made you a little more comfortable around them. and there was luke.

he was your soulmate, you were sure of it. platonic soulmate. you never really had to talk to understand what was going on in the other's head. you both just always knew. he always listened to you, gave advice, and you always did the same for him. he was your person.

after that day, you didn't find yourself stuttering so much anymore around jack, and there was no more awkward silence whenever you'd be over watching a movie and luke would go to the bathroom. jack was surprisingly quite interested in your 9th grade drama, and you quickly found out a lot of his teammates too. so, you always updated him whenever the two of you were alone for a slight moment, and he always gave his input.

════ ⋆winter 2018⋆ ════

➻❥ detroit, mich

as the months went by, you started spending less and less time with your friends. your group had officially split into two after winter break, alyssa and kaiden making their relationship official, and everyone found themselves picking sides. not you. you couldn't. you had been friends with some of them since elementary school, and you just couldn't remove any of them from your life.

and it was fine at first. you'd hang out with some of them one day, and then the others the next time. until it became a complete mess. they were all pity towards each other and the fact that you had remained neutral in the breakup annoyed them.

so you got dumped. twice. grace and maddy still talked to you every once in a while, you had known them since kindergarten. you were the og trio. and through the years you added more girls. and now you had no one. it hurt a lot. especially when the superbowl came around. you always went over to lily's house, all of you, while your parents would go out with their friends. but now you were alone.

but the second luke found out about it, he invited you without a second thought. which is how you ended him squished between him and trevor on one of their couches in the basement. you knew a couple of them from school and going to jack's games with luke, or whenever they would come around. and it surprised you how much they enjoyed gossiping.

so, commercial breaks were filled with you dropping all of the gossip you knew about everyone in your town. and this is where the benefit of having an older brother came in. you two were complete opposite really, but you both loved gossiping.

the night was going amazingly, until one of brought up your old friends. they didn't know. it wasn't their fault. you knew they didn't ask you to hurt your feelings or anything. they didn't know. but they all quickly understood when a heavy silent fell in the basement, alex and jack eyeing each other while luke froze besides you. the two older boys didn't know exactly what had happened. but when you had shown up at the hughes' household almost a whole week ago crying your eyes out with luke by your side, they knew it had to be bad.

"we uhm... i'm not their friend anymore." was all you said. and thankfully the break was over and everyone's attention went back to the tv. but there was this weird feeling in the basement. you excused yourself after a couple of minutes, claiming you need to refill your cup.

it was a lie. they all knew it. you didn't even have a cup you had a water bottle which was still half full and that you had left behind. but you didn't care, you needed to get out of there. the air upstairs was cold and fresh. you stood in the kitchen, you hands on the cold countertop as you tried your best to hold back your tears. you weren't their friend anymore, not their not your friends anymore. it pretty much meant the same thing, but the two held different meanings behind them. you still considered them your friends, but they didn't.

"hey, you okay?" you head jack asked. his voice was softer and quieter than usual. it felt odd. you looked over to see him standing a couple of feet away, his eyes filled with something you couldn't quite figure out.

"yeah, i'm fine." you quickly said, wiping away your tears that had barely started falling.

"you're a shit liar, y/n/n." he mumbled quietly, making his way over to you. "you want me to go get luke?"

"no, no, it's fine. i'm fine." you lied, trying your best to put on your best smile. jack was now standing next to you, way too close to you, one of his hands resting on the countertop as his body face you. "he's having a good time, i don't wanna ruin it." you mumbled, shyly turning away from him. the last thing you needed right now was for jack to see you ugly crying. but your heartbeat quickened when one of jack's hands softly grabbed your chin and tilted you head towards him. holy shit. he was close, so fucking close you could feel the hotness of his body radiating onto yours.

"you can talk to me, you know?" he whispered, and you could've sworn you saw him lean in a little closer. his forehead was almost touching yours, your lips only inches apart. "they're childish idiots, y/n/n. don't let them get the best of you like this. you're better than them." he added, referring to your old friends. luke had told you the same thing about a hundred time in the last week, but jack saying it felt so much more different. they were childish, you were mature to him.

"jack..." you trailed off as you saw his eyes look down at your lips before looking back into your eyes.

"y/n." he mumbled, his forehead now leaning on yours. your heart was beating out of your chest, you could feel his breath on your lips. there was no way this was happening. there was no way you were about to kiss jack hughes in the middle of his kitchen.

"jack! dude!" trevor fucking zegras. his voice had barely reached your ears that jack had slipped away, stepping away from you as his friend appear in the kitchen. "holy shit, it's cold up here." the boy said, clueless about the tension between you and the hughes boy at that moment.

you didn't say anything, instead, you just went back to the basement, your heart still beating out of your chest. you almost kissed jack. jack almost kissed you. and there was no one you could tell about it. luke would freak out, and so would alex, and they were the two people you felt you could really talk to right now, besides jack, but you couldn't talk to jack about jack.

when you arrived back downstairs, luke was quick to check on you, but all you could do was nod, not trusting yourself to speak at that moment. trevor and jack eventually came back. you stayed quiet for the rest of the night, your arm wrapped around luke's as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

you and jack never talked about the moment in the kitchen. matter of fact, you and jack didn't really talk point. he never approached you, and you didn't feel like being rejected, having already been through enough lately with your old friend group.

════ ⋆summer 2018⋆ ════

➻❥ detroit, mich

it had now been a full year since the hughe's had moved to michigan. you and luke had somehow managed to become even closer over the summer, and when the boy went away to texas for his brother's draft, and then away to his family's lake house for a while, you found yourself getting closer to his friends. they became your friends. a few of them had girl friends, or close friends that were girls, so you had new girlfriends in your life. and it felt so good. your life was completely different than it was a year ago, but you were happy.

your new friends never argued or fought over anything. it was perfect. well, besides the fact you couldn't bare to be in the same room alone with jack, but thankfully you were barely ever put in that position. luke had noticed that something was different between you two, but he never asked about it. he figured you'd tell him eventually if you wanted him to know.

now here you were, starting your sophomore year of high school. which is when you met travis. he was on the school's football and was committed to columbia university. you two had a couple of classes together, and when you had to pair up for a project in science, where you didn't have luke by your side, he took his chance to approach you. a month later, he was your boyfriend.

him and luke got along a little too well for your liking, the two sometimes accidentally leaving you out of conversations, but deep down it warmed your heart. you knew finding a boyfriend who would be okay with how close luke and you were wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world, but travis understood.

and he finally got your mind off of jack. you didn't think about him anymore, at least not in the way you used to. he was now really just luke's older brother. and you were luke's best friend. the three of you quickly became a little trio. they had lots of things in common. they were both committed to d1 schools, both had older brothers who were also in university, and you.

everything was perfect. jack's teammates loved to tease you and travis whenever the two of you would be over to watch whatever sports game was on that night and you would be all cuddled up on the couch. the hughes' house was the main hangout spot for all of kids, quinn even bringing some of his friends from university on the weekends. the house was always packed, and the family loved it.

"where's luke?" jack asked one afternoon as he came back from practice. you and travis were cuddled on the couch, a movie the two boys had been dying to watch playing on the tv.

"bathroom." you answered simply as jack made his way over and threw himself on the opposite end of the couch. "you good?"

"tired." he said, his face stuffed into the cushion of the couch. you and travis looked at each other briefly before you shrugged, deciding to just leave the older boy alone.

jack was enjoying this small moment of silence. he loved his friends, but they could get quite chaotic at times, especially around trevor. and he loved always having them over, but sometimes it was nice to have a little peace and quiet. but his moment soon got ruined when the sound of lips kissing and your giggle echoed in his ears.

he didn't mind your giggle, if anything he loved it. but the kissing noises, that he just couldn't. his head snapped towards the two of you, travis' arm around your shoulder, one of his hands cupping your face while both of yours held his neck, your lips locked together.

"do you not have your own homes where you can kiss?" the hockey player asked brutally. you quickly parted from travis and looked over your shoulder to jack. you had never heard him speak like this around you, he did around his friends, but never around you. his eyes were filled something you couldn't quite describe. but the look on his face said everything. he was pissed.

"sorry." you mumbled before leaning your head onto travis' shoulder. jack's eyes remained on the two of you as he watched your boyfriend press a quiet kiss to your head and pulling you closer into his chest. but he didn't care about travis, he only cared about you, and the fact you weren't snuggled into his chest. he was jealous. he was going to be the first overall pick in the draft next summer, his dream was going to come true. yet he was jealous of a sophomore who would probably never make it to the NFL.

that night back in february constantly played in his mind. you were so close, so fucking close to him. you were right there. and trevor had to mess all that up. sometimes when he couldn't fall asleep he thought about what it would've been like to kiss you. how your small hands would feel on his skin, how your soft skin would feel under his touch. it haunted him. and then he'd started thinking about what would've had happened after the kiss. would you still have distanced yourself from him? or would the two of you maybe be together by now? the second you had disappeared from the kitchen, he hated himself for not telling trevor to fuck off and go back to the basement. you were right there.

"what did i miss?" luke almost yelled, running back into the living room from the bathroom. the boy was obvious to the small tension that had formed in the air, instead jumping on the couch between you and his brother.

a couple of minutes later, jack got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen. you waited a bit before following him, claiming you were thirsty. when you get to the kitchen, jack was leaning on the counter, phone in his hands as something heated in the microwave.

you observed him for a small instant. his hair was getting longer, it fit him well. and he was starting to grow into his body more and more. he could feel your eyes on him. he knew you were there, he always knew. he tried his best not to look over to you, instead pretending he didn't know.

"are you okay?" you asked quietly, taking small steps towards him. his eyes looked up from his phone and over to you. you were wearing sweatpants but your hoodie, he could recognize it anywhere. you had gotten it from luke's closet, but it was his. luke had borrowed it a while ago and had been insisting that he had returned it to his brother. jack knew he was lying.

"yeah. just... tough practice. i shouldn't have snapped like before, sorry." he mumbled before looking back over at his phone. he couldn't keep looking at you, his hoodie fitting your frame so perfectly drove him insane.

"you sure? luke says you've been on edge for a while." you said softly as you now stood next to him. the last time the two of you had been this close was when you almost kissed.

"just the draft, i guess. big year, you know." he lied, he wasn't stressed about the draft. who else could they possibly pick? but he wasn't about to stand there and admit to you that he's been feeling like shit ever since you got boyfriend. you scoffed lightly at his words, making his head snap towards you.

"be so for real right now, you're gonna go first, everyone knows you will. they'd be stupid not to." you whispered, as jack's eyes starred into yours. the boy of the microwave ending rang through the kitchen, making jack snap back to reality. you had a boyfriend.

"thanks, y/n. but it's still stressful, everyone's watching you know." he said casually as he walked over and grabbed the plate of food he had heated up.

"don't act like you don't love the fact that everyone's only focused on you." you said, making jack smirk slightly as he grabbed a fork from the drawer.

"i do." he smiled as he started making his way back towards you. "also, if you don't mind, before you leave, put my hoodie back in my room not luke's. i've been looking for it for a while." he added as he walked past you and out of the kitchen.

holy shit.

════ ⋆spring 2019⋆ ════

➻❥ detroit, mich

"so, when are you guys leaving again?" you asked luke as you laid on his bed, the boy standing a couple of feet away going through his closet.

"about a month, i'm not sure the exact day." he answered. the NHL draft was coming up, which the whole hughes family was going to be gone for a while. this also meant the boys were constantly in the gym or at the rink, giving that finals push to trying and get picked as high as possible.

"gosh, i can't believe it's almost here, feels like you guys just got here." you sighed, fully resting on your back as luke let out a small frustrated groan. the two of you were gonna go get some ice cream, travis had gone out of the town for the weekend to visit family, so it was just the two of you. and you weren't exactly sure what the boy was doing right now.

"yeah, it's crazy."

"and in two years it's gonna be your turn!" you said with excitement as you pushed yourself up and walked over to the boy.

"well see about that."

"please, you're for sure gonna get picked, it's in your blood, lu." you smiled as he let out another groan, making you a little concerned. "what're you doing?"

"my hoodie's gone. did you give it back?"

"what hoodie?"

"the one i let you borrow when you and trav came over in the fall. the white one." he said as he kept going through his hoodies. oh. that hoodie. jack's hoodie.

"i gave it back to jack, he said it was is..." you responded quietly, making luke's jaw drop.

"nooooooo. y/n/n!"

"i'm sorry! i didn't know you cared that much."

"i've been hiding that hoodie from him since we were in toronto, it was so nice." he said, putting a hand on his heart as he looked down at the ground. you laughed slightly at how dramatic he was.

"idiot! it's just a hoodie, wear another one."

"jack's never gonna let me borrow it again."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

you were sitting on the couch in the living room with your family and travis, the draft was about the start. you had texted a couple of the guys who you were pretty close with good luck and had been texting luke almost all the time since he left. you were so happy for them, especially for jack, even if the two of you were still a little weird, you still cared about him.

so when his name was the first to get called that night, you were the first to jump up from the couch, fists in the air as you jumped around. your family was quick to follow, they had taken the hughes siblings as their own, just like jim and ellen had done for you and jeremy. travis stayed on the couch the whole night, his eyes stuck on you as you jumped up every time one of the guys got their name called, and how a bright smile was plastered on your face as you sent each of them a text shortly after their pick.

the second after hearing jack got off of the stage, he had been surrounded by pure chaos. media, photographs, players, staff members, there was just so much going on. but he was living his dream, so who was he to complain. he constantly felt his phone buzz in the pocket of his dress pants, before eventually putting it on do not disturb, not even bothering to check any of the messages.

it wasn't until he was back with his family that he really got the time to go through all of his messages. family who couldn't attend, old teammates, friends from toronto, friends from michigan, future teammates, and more. but there was only one notification he cared about. it was the first one he looked for, not even bothering to acknowledge the fact that crosby had sent him a message, no all he care was finding yours.

CONGRATS JACKY !!!!

SO SO PROUD OF YOUUUUUU

KNEW YOU HAD NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT

his smile quickly grew as he opened the messages. it was late in vancouver, meaning you were probably already asleep back in michigan. he knew you wouldn't see his message until the morning, but he didn't care. his response was short and simple.

thank you y/n/n ❤️

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

when the hughes family got back from vancouver, you were in their driveway before they had even gotten out of the car. and you were quick to throw yourself into jack's arms. your arms were wrapped around his neck as his went around your waist, pulling you close.

"you're amazing, holy shit!" you gasped, pulling away from the boy and you shook him slightly before pulling him back in. the boy let out a laughter as he squeeze tight in his arms. gosh he was gone for barely and week and he had missed you so much. he started to wonder what it would've been like to have you right by his side as his name echoed in the arena.

"dude! congrats!" stupid travis always running his picture perfect thoughts. jack looked over at the voice, seeing your boyfriend walking over towards him with a smile. you then disappeared from his grasp, and going over to luke.

"thanks man." jack said awkwardly as the boys shared a hand shake, he looked over at the rest of his family, you were now quickly hugging quinn before moving over to ellen and jim.

"sweatheart, we were going to have a barbecue tonight, are your parents busy?" ellen asked as you parted from jim.

"i don't think so."

"i'll go ask them." travis said before walking back towards your house. the hughes family then started taking their luggages out of their car and making their way into their house, but jack stayed in place. and so did you. it was just the two of you now, standing about a foot away from each other. jack's eyes locked into yours.

"'m really happy for you, j." you mumbled after a small moment of silence.

"thank you, y/n/n." he whispered, his eyes still staring into yours. "you'd love vancouver."

"i wish i could've been there."

"me too." he admitted. you hadn't even realized how close the two of you had gotten. one of his hands was now resting on your forearm, inches away from your hand. she has a boyfriend. he kept repeating to himself, but you were right there. your lips parted slightly as you now looked up to him.

"your parents said they were coming in a couple minutes, babe." of fucking course. travis was obvious to the situation the two of you were currently in. the thoughts that ran through both your heads. how you still felt the hotness on your skin from jack's touch. this was so wrong. you had a boyfriend, a boyfriend you loved, and all you could think about was your best friend's brother.

summer and came and went in the blink of an eye. the hughes' had taken their annual trip to their lakehouse for a couple of weeks, so it was just you and travis for a bit. no luke, no jack, just you two. and it felt like a much needed break from the older boy. and when fall rolled away, jack and quinn were gone. sure quinn didn't live in the hughes' house, but he was around enough with school only being about 30 minutes away. but now it was always just you, luke, and travis.

you and jack barely ever spoke, only when he'd call his little brother and you were around, nothing else. and then quarantine happened, jack and quinn were home a lot sooner than they normally would've. you and travis couldn't see each other, but thankfully both your parents and the hughes' were okay with you and luke hanging out on one of your front porches or backyards a couple of times a week, keeping a safe distance of course.

it felt weird spending so little time at the hughes' and it felt ever weirder to see all three brothers there in the middle of april. as restrictions slowly started being lifted, you started spending your afternoons at the side of the hughes' pool. and then you'd help "ref" whatever small tournament of games they had going on with your brothers, making two equal teams. of course, they let you join whenever you wanted, but you weren't exactly wanting to play basketball or hockey with them. so you stayed on the side most of the time, but you didn't mind.

travis' parents had gone a little crazy at the pandemic. they barely let the two of you see each other, and always made sure the two of you kept a safe distance. it was awful but you understood. you never really complained though because you two still facetimed everyday, or texted all the time.

but you had finally landed yourself an invite to the hughe's lakehouse in august, along with travis of course. your parents had no problem letting you go, after all you had spent of your time with the brother's already, but travis' parents were quick to say no. luke had tried his hardest to convince them to let him come, but it was no use.

it was just going to be you, luke, jack, and all of his friends. great.

════ ⋆summer 2020⋆ ════

➻❥ wolfeboro, nh

you were officially 17. one more year until you were an adult, and it honestly felt crazy. you were about to start your senior year, and although luke wouldn't be at school anymore because of the ntdp choosing to make their players do online school, you were still so excited. it was insane to you that you had met the family freshman year and you were already a senior.

you had celebrated your birthday out on the lake with all of jack's friends and the two brothers. you had a blast listening to them bickering and arguing the whole day while you just sat back and watched. it was great.

you had been at the lakehouse for a couple of days now, and somehow jack and luke had convinced their parents to go to the lakehouse alone, meaning it was only teenagers in the house. that of course came with jack and his friends drinking every night and acting like a bunch of idiots the whole time, but you found it entertaining.

jack had made it quiet clear that neither you or luke were allowed to have any alcohol. his parents weren't here, so he was the one in charge. but after begging the whole day, you were finally allowed to drink with them since you were now 17. that of course earned a long string of whines from luke, who was only a couple of weeks shy of being 17 as well, but jack simply ignored him.

so here you were, the early hours of the morning approaching as you sat on the edge of the dock. the boy's were starting to calm down a bit, meaning it was almost time for bed. you had snuck away a couple of minutes ago, needing a small break from the guys. you were sure luke would be the first to join you or maybe cole, but to your surprise it was jack.

"you okay?" jack asked as he sat down next to you, drink in hand.

"yeah, why?"

"you've been out here a while, trevor was starting to think you fell in the lake." he said, making you scoff a bit.

"you guys do realize me and luke have drank before. we're not little freshmen anymore."

"i know." he said, and you looked over at him for the first time since he sat down. you could see in his eyes that he was drunk, but not fully, just enough to feel it. you sent him a small smile before looking back over at the lake. the two of you then sat in a comfortable silence before jack spoke again. "do you ever think about getting married?"

"i'm 17." gosh, that still felt weird to say.

"i know, but like the guys were saying chicks always think about that kind of stuff. got a whole pinterest boards for wedding inspo, and shit." he explained, making you roll your eyes slightly.

"stop calling us chicks."

"sorry."

"i guess i do sometimes."

"yeah?"

"yeah." you affirmed, and jack looked over at you with his brows raised, waiting for you to elaborate. "i want something small, no new girlfriends and boyfriends that i've never met, no kids under 5 because that's just chaos. if anyone even thinks of announcing a pregnancy or proposing to someone at my wedding, out of life for good. outside, maybe on a beach or in the forest, during summer time obviously. has to be during the sunset to get those nice pictures. lots of flowers around. each table with a vase of falling lilies. round tables, not squared or rectangles-"

"you really thought about everything, huh?" jack joked, making you blush slightly before looking down at his lap.

"not everything, but most of it."

"more than me. i just know i want good vibes, good music, good food, all my friends there." he said, making you laugh slightly.

"so what everyone else wants when they first think about their wedding?"

"i guess so." he shrugged, making you chuckle. your eyes were now locked together. and the heat of his body was radiating onto you. not this again.

"dude! luke stole a beer!"

jack hughes was going to hit trevor zegras. it's like the new york native had a gift for ruining every moment jack got to spend with you.

"fucking luke." jack cursed as he stood up from the dock and made his way back to everyone, his feet slightly thumping.

the rest of your trip to the lake house had gone smoothly, you and jack kept your distance a little after that weird moment out on the dock. the boy had eventually agreed to let his little brother drink, but he was limited to a certain amount of drinks.

and when it came time to go home, you were excited. no more sharing a house with jack, he'd be going to new jersey soon and you'd go back to how life was. but of course, the odds were not in favour, and the nhl season was not starting until january. great.

thankfully, jack spent most of his time working out with quinn and out on the ice with his brothers, so you didn't see him all that much. but none of his close friends were in michigan, and the ones who went to umich couldn't leave campus, meaning his brothers were his only friends right now.

so whenever you'd come around, quinn and jack would always be there as well. eventually, travis' parents started letting him come over more and more, and when he'd be around, jack was never there. you found it a bit weird at first, how the middle hughes would always disappear when travis would get there, but you ignored it, told yourself it was just a coincidence.

it wasn't. jack hughes could not stand the sight of you and travis together anymore, not after that night out on the dock. nothing happened, you just talked, but everything hit him that night. he was in love with you, so fucking in love with you. and sometimes when your eyes would linger on him a little longer than they should, or when he'd catch you staring at him during movie nights, he'd tell himself you felt the same way. but then the arms that were wrapped around your body would bring him back down to earth.

it hurt him, it hurt him so much, because deep down he knew that if trevor had never came upstairs back at the superbolw night, your lips would've locked together in the middle of the kitchen. his hands would've been all over your body, his body close to yours. and the second your lips parted he would've been rambling about how long he'd be wanting to do that for, how long he'd been thinking about what it feel like. and how he knew he wanted you in his life forever.

but that didn't happen. instead you slipped away from him, and then you were gone. you were still there physically, but you were gone. he had his chance, his moment, it would've been perfect. but stupid trevor had to ruin it all. and so every time his eyes caught you and travis being all loved up, all he could think about was how that could be him, that should be him. but it wasn't.

════ ⋆spring 2021⋆ ════

➻❥ detroit, mich

"i'm so proud of you, y/n/n!" luke exclaimed as he picked you up, spinning you around slightly. your laugh echoed through his ears as your tried your best to keep your hat on the top of your head.

"thank you, lukey." you mumbled as the boy placed you down, but his arms stayed around you.

"congratulations, sweetie!" it was ellen's turn to embrace you in her arms. you did it. you had graduated high school. it was truly a surreal feeling, you were starting college in a couple of months.

you had your mind set on michigan at first, luke would be there, it was close to home but travis was going to columbia. you had jokingly applied, you didn't think you'd get in, but what was the worse that could happen? but you weren't prepared to see the word 'accepted' when you opened the email. luke was sitting next to you when you opened it, and he was so happy for you. sure, it stung that you two would be apart, but you had gotten into an ivy league school. he could get over not seeing you for a couple of months.

you hadn't told travis, acting like you were going to go to michigan until decision day came around. you showed up to school that day proudly wearing your purple columbia hoodie, and travis swore he almost fainted when he saw you appear in the hallway. you were coming with him.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

the moment jack hughes he was a complete goner for you came at his little brother's draft. you and travis had been standing on the side of the living room with alex and josh as you waited to hear luke's name get called. and when you hard the new jersey devils call his name, the room erupted. jack was so excited, already looking forward to having his brother with him.

your smile was wide as you watched luke slipped jack's jersey on along with a new jersey devils hat. you knew he'd make it one day. once luke was done with all of his interview, the party was in full swing, people congratulating him every second.

at a point, the jersey slipped off of his back and onto yours, a wide grin on your face as you smiled for the photo. jack had been on the side with his brother, alex, quinn and a couple of family friends. he hadn't been paying any attention to what was happening anymore, until he heard your laugh echo through the backyard.

his eyes quickly found you, and his heart sped up at the sight of his jersey on your body. he was brought back to that time you were wearing his hoodie without even knowing, and how you had kindly returned it to him before leaving. only his jersey looked so much better than any hoodie could. his number on your back along with his last name.

butterflies flew around his stomach at the sight, your smile wide as you shifted away from luke and started talking to some of their cousins. gosh how he wished he could see like this at his game, standing in the crowd cheering him on.

the day he found out you were coming to new york for school, he was thrilled. part of him hoped this would finally be the moment where you two would finally push past this weird tension between you two. sure he lived across the bridge, but you were moving to new city, and you would have no friends. he'd be the only one you knew for a while. but when he opened his phone one morning and the only thing he could see was travis sitting at a table signing a contract with a small sign that said 'columbia univerisity' in front of him and his parents decked out in purple, his heart shattered.

how could he forget. how could he forget the only reason you had applied to columbia in the first place was because of travis. not him. travis. so, even though you'd only be about 20 minutes away from him in the fall, and no matter how good you looked in red with the number 86 on your back, he knew that wasn't the jersey you'd be wearing in a couple of months.

and the day jack hughes truly got his heart broken came only a couple of months later. it was the devils' home opened, and jack had texted randomly saying he'd love for you to attend, and he was sure you'd love it. so you agreed. and when jack walked out of the locker room after their win, he was over the moon. he hadn't seen you in so long, and he couldn't wait to see you. he was quick to get undressed and get done with the media to rush out of the locker room and make his way to the friends and family area where you had texted him you were waiting.

but his body froze as his eyes landed on you, or more specifically the arm that was around you. he should've known, he should've known travis would be here, why wouldn't he? but jack had asked you to come, not you and your boyfriend. and to make it worse, you were wearing a devils jersey, 'subban' was written on your back. ouch.

"jack!" you said once you spotted him, walking over towards him, and throwing your arms around his neck. "you were great!"

"thanks, y/n."

"you okay?" you asked concerned when you noticed the small smile on his face.

"yeah, just tired a guess, it's been a while." he lied as travis joined the two of you. the boy boys dabbed each other up, exchanging small greetings before jack was already trying to leave.

"i forgot, coach wanted to talk to me-"

"oh, no worries, we'll wait."

"nah, you don't need to. it might take a while and i really wanna go home." he said, rubbing the back of his neck. you were a little hurt by this. he had been texting you all day about how excited he was to see you and for the game, yet here he was already trying to leave.

"oh. i get it, yeah, go rest."

"i'll see you guys soon."

you didn't. you had texted him the next day asking if he was feeling better and he never answered. you were starting to get a little worried, so you had asked luke to check up on him, and luke was quick to answer you saying that jack was okay. that really hurt, you had figured out after a while that jack was simply ignoring you, travis had also reached out after a while, but still no answer.

jack had gone home that night and for what felt like the first time of his life, he was heartbroken, and he cried, he cried hard. he was so stupid to think you'd show up alone, you had travis had been together for almost three years now, why would you show up alone. three years, it had been three long painful years of jack trying to convince himself that one day you'd realize he was the one you wanted, not travis. but that day never came, and it probably never will. he needed to move on.

but he couldn't do that with you around, so he ignored you. he needed a break, a long long break to focus on himself and finally get over this stupid crush he's had for years. you never went to another devils game after that.

and when summer came around, you were a little hesitant to join luke and his family. jack and quinn had bought a lake house about an hour away from your homes, and their parents sold the lake house in wolfeboro. thankfully, jack and quinn had decided they would only stay at their own house now, no more staying with their parents, so you didn't have to see jack.

but when quinn had reached out and invited both you and travis to come over, you didn't know what to do. travis had been out of town with his family to visit his grandparents in minnesota, so it was just you. you were going to decline his invitation at first, but when luke showed up early in the morning pounding on your bedroom, you knew you had no choice.

their house was huge, the backyard was huge, everything was just so big and fancy. of course that the fancy part didn't last long as the boys all settled into the house, it quickly became chaotic. but that's what made it comforting in a way.

"what's up with you and jack?" luke asked one evening as the two of you laid on the dock, staring up at the sky. your brows furred as you looked over to the boy, he was already looking at you.

"what're you talking about?"

"you haven't said a single thing to hime since you got here, you barely even said hi."

"nothing's going on between me and jack." you said. it was a lie. and you hated lying to your best friend. but how were you supposed to explain to him all of it, how complicated and stupid everything between you and jack was. you weren't stupid, you had a small guess as to why he disappeared. all the stolen glances, the awkward moments when he was so close yet so far, and the fact that you had a boyfriend, a boyfriend you loved more than anything in the world. you knew.

"y/n/n... i'm not stupid, come on. did he do something? say something?" luke urged, pushing himself up on his hands. you were quick to follow his movement, shuffling slightly closer to him so your shoulders were touching.

"it's stupid."

"try me."

"he invited me to the home opener, so obviously me and trav went. and then after the game he was all weird and he rushed to leave. and i haven't heard him since." you explained, choosing to start your story to the last time you saw the middle hughes instead of year ago when you almost kissed him in their kitchen.

"he's such a bitch. i don't get why he'd do that."

"it's fine, lu, really. school was crazy busy anyways it's not like i had that much free time to see him or whatever. i don't care." another lie. gosh you hated yourself for how the words slipped so easily from your mouth. how you uttered them with full confidence knowing deep down the absence of jack was killing you.

"he's such an idiot."

════ ⋆spring 2023⋆ ════

➻❥ newark, nj

a large smile was plastered on your face as luke appeared in the family and friends room, his hair wet and messy while his classic lopsided grin was on his face.

"lukey!" you called out, handing travis your bag as you ran towards your best friend, throwing yourself into his arms. he had just played his first nhl game, and of course you and travis had found the time to come watch.

"dude!" travis said as he followed behind you, hitting the boy on the shoulder a couple of times.

"thanks for coming guys."

"of course! i'm so happy and proud of you, lu! and the trio's back together!" you said with excitement as you brought the tall boy into another hug. luke was here. he was 20 minutes away from school and you couldn't wait for the next year already. you were almost done with your sophomore year, meaning you were already almost done with college.

luke and travis just let out laughs at your excitement. the trio was back together. but the only downside to luke moving to new jersey was the fact that he lived with jack. jack you still hadn't spoken to besides small greetings since the home opened a season ago. travis didn't talk to him either, they were never really that close and your boyfriend always had a feeling that jack just did not like him.

when the devils made the playoffs, you made sure to attend every game you could. quinn was also in town during that time, and it felt so weird for all of you to be together in new york instead of michigan, but you loved it. quinn, jim and travis spent most of the games talking about sports, while you and ellen stressed over the games. it was amazing.

and life got even better when you went back to michigan, this time travis joining you whenever you'd go to quinn and jack's lakehouse. jack was very different that summer, he stayed away from almost everyone, and he was glued to the wheel of the boat. you had mentioned it to luke slightly, but even he didn't know what had gotten into his brother.

even though things were still weird between you, travis and jack, you had the best summer of your life. and by the time you went back to new york, you had a ring on your finger. you had travis had agreed to wait until you both graduated to get married, but he had been keeping the ring hidden away in his room for too long now. luke was over the moon for you, quinn, ellen and jim as well. but jack only retreaded back to his room when you showed up to the lakehouse a little after sunset showing off your ring.

but you didn't care, you were happy. and nothing was going to ruin that for you.

going back to new york, you fell back into the same routine as before, only now whenever you had free time you'd spend most of it with luke. either going out for food, chilling in your dorms or even going over to his apartment when jack would be out.

luke quickly became aware that the problem behind jack's behaviour wasn't something to do with hockey, and he only acted this way whenever he was around you and travis, so he tried to limit your interactions.

as for jack, he had been miserable ever since he left the arena after the home opener. the distance to try and move on did nothing. if anything, it hurt even more than having you around. but what was he supposed to do? go back to how it was before and pretend he never fell into this flunk, explain to you why he had done it, tell the truth only to get his heart broken once again? yeah, that wasn't gonna happen. so he stuck to staying away.

but the moment he saw that ring on your finger, his heart shattered completely. you were getting married, married to someone who wasn't him. ever since your conversation about weddings on the dock back in 2020, he had started thinking about his. he imagined different version every times, but there was one constant thing that was identical. you were wearing white, you and only you.

but that's all it was, thoughts and dream that he knew who never come to life. thankfully, he could only guess that he wouldn't be invited to the wedding, so that would at least save him the pain of hearing you say 'i do' to someone that isn't him. he knew he should be happy for you, that's all he really wanted, for you to be happy. but he had his limits, and seeing you be happy with someone else, that he just couldn't handled. so he stayed away.

he couldn't help the little gasp that slipped out of my mouth when his eye landed on the wedding invitation. his wedding invitation. was this some sort of joke? had mistakenly addressed it to him instead of luke? but luke had already received his. this was no mistake. jack hughes was invited to your wedding.

it took him a full week to decide whether he was going to come or not, and he eventually decided he will after luke practically corned him asking why he hadn't answered yet. he wanted to be at your wedding, he really did, but he wanted it to be your wedding. but he wanted you to be happy. your happiness was the most important thing to him, and if marrying travis would make you happy, then he was happy, sorta. at least it wasn't with luke.

════ ⋆summer 2024⋆ ════

➻❥ michigan

"you excited?" your mom asked, standing behind you in front of the large mirror in the room. your hair was done already, so was your makeup, all was left was the dress. in less than an hour, you'd be married.

after lots of conversation, you and travis eventually settled on having your wedding in a venue, and he had ended up choosing most of the decorations after you insisted he add his own touch to the wedding, and that you didn't really mind how it was set up besides a few thing.

"yeah. just nervous." you answered, taking a deep breath. your mom laughed slightly as she wrapped her arms around you.

"that's a good thing, honey. we all are right before." she soothed, but it didn't help. you were nervous, you were scared. of what? you weren't sure, but you knew you were.

you eventually slipped on your dress and took a couple of minutes to yourself before you were swarmed by people for the whole night. all you did was stare into the mirror, looking over yourself. this wasn't what you had imagined.

a knock eventually came, you answered with a small 'come in' but no one moved. the door stayed closed and you figured maybe it was just your mom making sure you were still alive. you took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you enjoyed your final moment of peace for the night.

and when you opened them again, jack was standing behind you. you hadn't even heard him come in. his eyes were starring into yours through the mirror. your breath caught in your throat as you observed him. it had been forever since the two of you had been alone in a room, yet alone this close to each other.

"this isn't what you talked about." he stated after a couple of minutes, taking a small step towards you.

"what?"

"this isn't the wedding you talked about." he said, referring to that night out on the dock where you had shared your imagination with him. you bit your bottom lips, trying to find the right words to say.

"guess it just changed overtime." you shrugged, finally looking away from his eyes. jack took another steps towards you, and you could feel the heat of his body onto your back. he was so close.

"bullshit."

"jack-"

"nothing about this wedding screams you. the decorations were all travis, weren't they? there's barely any flowers, the main colours are blue and yellow. you hate yellow. this is really the wedding you want to have?"

"jack i- it's complicated." you sighed.

"your boyfriend of 6 years not knowing you hate the colour yellow and not knowing what your dream wedding is isn't complicated, y/n. you wanted follows everywhere, falling lilies, have it outside. nothing about this is you, it's all him. why are you allowing it to be all about him?"

"because he wants this, jack! this is for him, not me, all of this is for him!" you said, your voice raising. your words sunk into jack and you saw his shoulder sag a bit.

"what do you mean?"

"this is what he wants, jack. he wants this wedding."

"you don't?"

"i hate yellow." you admitted, trying your best to hold in your tears. you had never told jack about your hatred for the colour, so how he knew you had no idea. "i hate this dress, i hate venue, i hate the followers he picked."

"you hate the dress?" he asked, his voice low. "why?" he added once he saw you nod.

"it wasn't the one i wanted."

"why didn't you get it?"

"it was perfect. for my dream wedding, it was perfect. not for this one."

"then why not have the wedding you always wanted? you deserve it!"

"because that's all it is, jack, a dream!" you yelled, a tear slipping down your cheek. you squeezed your eyes shut, bitting your lips, when you felt one of jack's hand on your arm.

"tell me about it, the dream wedding."

"just our close friends and families. on the beach, too many bugs in the forest. the sunset in the back, flowers everywhere, falling lilies on the table. taking a walk on the shore after, just us. and when i'd get to aisle..." you trailed off, feeling jack's other hand land on your waist, your back against his chest, his breath on your shoulder. "you'd be waiting for me. our eyes lock, and you'd smile, and i'd try my best not to cry. i can't have my dream wedding today, because the man is not the one waiting for me today." you admitted, your eyes still shut closed as tears slowly fell down your cheeks.

"i love falling lilies." jack whispered into your ear, his lips against the shell of it.

"i know, that's why i picked them. you love the water."

"i do." he whispered, his lips trailing over your the side of your neck. "you hate yellow."

"i hate yellow." you repeated, opening your eyes only to see jack already looking at you.

"leave with me."

"jack..."

"leave with me, y/n/n. i haven't stopped thinking about you since that night in the kitchen. and i've hated myself ever since for not telling trevor to fuck off and let you leave. it was the biggest mistake of my life. you're the only one i've ever wanted. and every time someone asks me where i see myself in 10 years, if i had broken any records, all i can think about is you, us. you're all i think about." he admitted, his words sending shivers down your spine. "i'm in love with you, y/n/n. i'm so fucking in love with you it hurts, but i love it."

"there's a back door down the hallway."

"there is." he confirmed. your eyes were locked together again.

"you drove?"

"i did."

"alone?"

"yes."

"go start the car." you mumbled, you felt his lips against your cheek and he was gone, a wide grin on his face. you quickly started getting this dress off, taking your hair out of its up do and into a messy bun. you were about to grab your bag when luke came into the room. his brows immediately furred when he saw you. the ceremony was starting in less than 20 minutes, what the hell were you doing?"

"y/n/n. what's going on?" his voice made you freeze. you slowly turned around, and luke was quick to noticed your smudged mascara. "are you okay?" he quickly asked, stepping towards you.

"i can't do this, luke."

"y/n/n, what're you talking about?"

"i can't get married."

"you're stressing yourself out, y/n. get the dress back on. everyone gets nervous, doesn't mean you don't want to get married." luke tried to reason, his hands on your shoulder.

"no, no, no! you don't get it, lu. i can't get to married to travis."

"wha- why not? he loves you, y/n/n, and you love him. you guys have been together forever." luke said, getting slightly agitated. you were about to say something when jack walked in.

"y/n/n, you almost ready to go?" he asked before his hands landed on his younger brother, his jaw falling slightly. luke looked over at his brother, before looking over at you.

"y/n/n...?"

"i can't marry travis, luke. i can't, i don't want to." you said, and luke understood right away. he smiled down slightly at you. he knew.

he always knew. he always noticed how shy and blushed you would get around his brother, he wasn't stupid. and he always noticed how jack's eyes lingered on you a little too long. he knew.

"trav's mom said she was going to come see you soon, so you need to go, now." luke mumbled, a grateful smile forming on your face.

"i'll see you tonight, okay? i love you."

"i love you more, y/n/n." luke answered, giving you a slight hug before you grabbed your bag and made your way towards jack. the boy was quick to grab your bag. "take care of her."

"i will."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

"she's gone!" travis' mom yelled out, walking back into the main area. everyone's head quickly turned towards her, her hands frantically waving in the air.

luke had managed to make it back to the rest of the group before travis' mom went to go see you. he was standing with quinn and their father, talking about sports.

"what?"

"y/n! she's gone!" she repeated, your family quickly made their way over to your room to confirm this claim by their own. and when they entered the room, they were met with your dress hanging and all of your stuff gone, with your ring left on the desk.

when your parents came back and confirmed that you were gone, chaos ensued. everyone tried calling your phone, trying to think about how you would have left and why? travis eventually came out of his own room and joined the panic.

"where's jack?" quinn whispered to his baby brother.

"where do you think." luke mumbled back, pretending to be on his phone trying to contact you. quinn knew too. essentially everyone knew besides you, jack, and travis about these unsaid feelings between you two.

"atta boy." quinn said under his breath, making luke snort.

"luke! where is she?" travis said loudly, walking up to his best friend.

"i don't know, man, i'm trying to call her." he answered, showing the boy his phone. luke felt bad for lying to his friend like this. but you were his best friend, you were his soulmate and he'd do anything for you. he knew the time would come where you and jack finally grew balls and admitted your love for each other.

"you were the last to see her!"

"she was fine when i went to see her. look man, i'm just as confused as you are." another lie. gosh, luke hated lying.

"where's jack?" travis asked with a low voice. his eyes looking around the room for the brunette boy.

"i-i don't know." technically, this wasn't a lie. he knew who jack was with, but he didn't know where.

"i knew it. i fucking knew it. she left with him, didn't she?" he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. when he saw the looks the two brothers gave each other, he broke. "get the hell out of here."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

"your lake house, really?" you said in disbelief as jack pulled into driveway.

"no one's home!" he answered, putting the car in park and climbing out. he quickly made his way around the car and opened the door for you. you stared at his hand that was reached out for you, still in disbelief that this was the place he chose to go to. "come one, y/n/n. we can go on the boat, swim in the pool, watch a movie. whatever you want to do, we can do it. just us."

"jack, the last time i was here-"

"was with travis, i know. but i own the place so who gives a shit." he said, making you laugh slightly, looking down at your lap. you felt jack's hand on your chin, tilting your head towards him. he had stepped closer, and he was barely inches away from you. "it's just us."

"kiss me." you blurted out. jack's eyes went wide before he quickly leaned in and finally, after years, his lips met yours. the hand that was on your chin cupped your face, while the other landed on your waist. your hands reached for the collor of his dress shirt, pulling him close.

"y/n/n..." he whispered when your lips parted, slightly out of the breath. the hand on your face slide down to your waist, holding you close.

"shut up." you said, wrapping your head around his neck and pulling him in again.

there was no way this was real. you were making out with jack hughes in the middle of his driveway. holy fuck.

your tongues met in the middle after a while, and a moan escaped your mouth when jack pulled you flush against him. he was still standing right outside of the door, and your legs were now hanging out of the door around his. when lips left yours and moved down to your neck, your hands went into his hair, tugging as small gasps slipped past your lips.

"jack." you whispered, his lips trailing down further and further.

"yeah, baby?" he responded, his lips leaving your skin for a slight second before they were back on you.

"i want you."

everything after that was a blur. jack had lifted you out of the door, kicking the door closed behind him as your lips met again. your arms around his neck, his hands on your waist, as he tried his best to guide the two of you into the house safely. jack struggled to get his keys figured out to unlock the door, partly because of all the adrenaline rushing through him, and because of the way your lips danced on his neck.

"fuck, y/n/n." he groaned, finally opening. he guided you in once again, and quickly pushed you up against the wall, the door closing between the two of you. his body was trapping yours against the wall, his hands roaming your body. meanwhile, yours attacked his button up, trying your best to undo the buttons as quickly as possible. jack helped you out a bit, getting the ones at the bottom. but he left the last one for you. and when you undid it, you were quick to push the shirt off of his shoulders, exposing his chest completely.

"you're so pretty, jack." you mumbled against his lips, your fingers roaming his chest, finger naisl grazing his abs. he let out a loud grunt, his head falling into your neck. "sound so fucking pretty, j." another grunt.

"fuck, love the way you talk to me, y/n/n. so fucking hot." he whispered against your neck. jack's hands trailed to the back of thighs, quickly lifting you over his shoulder. you let out a yelp at his movement before giggling as he started making his way to his bedroom, his shirt being left behind on the ground.

"stupid luke wanting the downstairs bedroom." he cursed under his breath as he made his way up the stairs, making you laugh a little.

"you own the place." you said, almost mocking his words from before. jack let out a small chuckle before softly slapping your butt. you eventually made it to his room, and jack carefully place you down on his bed, his body hovering over yours.

your legs were over his thighs as he kneeled on the bed, his hands right next to your head. his crotch hard against yours.

"you're wearing too much clothes."

"so are you." you answered, hands going down to fiddle with his belt.

"you have more than me!"

"you still have your shoes on, idiot." you smiled up with him, his finger slowly pushing your top over your head.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

"oh, hell no." luke grumbled as soon as he entered the lake house, quinn right behind him. the two boys had came straight after getting kicked out by travis, but when they saw jack's car in the driveway, they decided to spent the rest of the day with their parents.

luke eventually explained them the situation, and although ellen was over the moon that you two had finally confessed to each other, she scolded luke for not telling the truth and for not telling her as soon as it happened.

but it was almost the early hours of the morning now, and the two boys wanted to sleep in their own bed. but luke was not expecting to see jack's shirt on the ground as soon as he walked in.

quinn let out a chuckle as his eyes landed on the shirt, slapping luke on the back slightly. "what'd you think they were doing, bud? having a tea party?" quinn joked before he started making his way upstairs to his bedroom. "welcome to your new life, dude."

oh, absolutely not. for some reason, luke had totally forget the part where you would now be having sex with his brother, so when the two of you slowly made your way to the kitchen the next morning, both of your hairs a mess, dark purple spots along both your necks, and down jack's chest - luke could only guess there were some on yours too - he was quick to say something.

"i have rules." he said loudly, making quinn look up from his phone, as you and jack looked over at him, your eyes half closed. "keep the sex quiet, and don't talk to me about it. no kissing with your tongues like teenagers in front of me."

"like this?" you asked before grabbing jack's face and kissing him exactly how luke had described.

"ew! y/n!" luke gasped, his hands covering his eyes. quinn let out a laugh, getting a kick out of watching this. "none of that!"

"awh."

"and... y/n/n you're still my best friend, okay? and i don't want to third wheel all the time." luke said, getting slightly emotional. you smile softly before walking over to the boy and hugging him.

"don't worry, lukey, i won't talk to you about how good your brother fucks me." you joked, making jack and quinn let out a laugh as luke let out another gasp. this was going to be fun.

1K notes · View notes

trashforbarzal · 2 months ago

Text

Faceoff with Love - Jack Hughes

Summary: Jack Hughes. The NHL’s ultimate manwhore. King of confidence. Untouchable… or at least, that’s what he thought. Until he falls hard.

Warning: Implied sexual situations, mature language, nothing too wild or serious

Hey, lovelies! 💕 This is Jack's story, the next installment in what I’ve officially named The Hughes Effect Saga—because let’s be real, every brother deserves their own story. I couldn’t resist giving the main characters names since this universe is growing, and honestly, trying to write it without them would’ve been mission impossible. So, just a heads-up: Thea is Luke’s love interest! (Though if you’ve read Age Is Just a Number…Right?, you won’t see her mentioned there, since that one started as a standalone one-shot.) You can read this without reading Age Is Just a Number, but it definitely gives you more background on Jack's story if you do!

Not gonna lie, this one took forever to write. It ended up being 16,472 words and 42 pages in my Word doc—so, yeah… buckle up! 😅

Hope you love reading it as much as I loved writing it! ❤️

For more fun: masterlist

—-

Jack Hughes, star of the New Jersey Devils, was enjoying a normal morning—until the noises coming from his little brother Luke’s room hijacked his thoughts. Jack had always been supportive of Luke, and he was genuinely happy for him. After all, Luke and his girlfriend had been through a lot—the pressures of the NHL, the relentless fans, and everything in between had made starting their relationship anything but easy. He knew how much effort they both put in to make it work, and he couldn’t help but admire them for it.

But the sounds from the next room? That was a different story. Jack tried to block it out, but it was impossible. The muffled conversations—and those other noises—had a way of seeping into his mind. It wasn’t just the invasion of privacy that bothered him, though. It was what he’d learned that really threw him off: Luke’s kink.

Some things were best left unsaid, behind closed doors. But there was Luke, sounding way too eager to ask permission for... well, things Jack had no business hearing. It was burned into his brain, and he couldn’t unhear it.

“Yeah, no. Nope. That’s it. I need to get out of here,” Jack muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

With a groan, he kicked off the covers, grabbed a hoodie from the back of the couch, and yanked it over his head. “I need bleach. For my ears. And my soul.”

A coffee shop seemed like the safest escape—loud espresso machines, the comforting scent of fresh beans… anything to erase whatever the hell he’d just overheard.

As he stepped outside, he let out a deep breath, shaking off the lingering ick of the morning. He had morning skates later anyway, so at least this way, he’d be caffeinated and mentally prepared before hitting the ice.

By the time Jack reached the coffee shop, the tension in his shoulders had finally eased, the crisp morning air doing its job in clearing his head. As he pushed open the door, the familiar chime jingled, welcoming him into the warm, cozy space. It wasn’t crowded—just a handful of people tapping away at laptops, a few others lost in their books, the low hum of conversation filling the air.

Jack stepped into line, a slow grin tugging at his lips as he took in the room. He could feel it—the shift in energy, the way conversations quieted just slightly, the not-so-subtle glances thrown his way. He walked in like he owned the place. And in a way, he kind of did. Not literally, of course, but the moment he stepped inside, it was obvious—people noticed.

A couple of girls in the corner glanced up, whispering behind their hands. The old man at the corner table did a double take. A guy in line nudged his friend, a knowing smirk passing between them. Jack thrived on it. The attention, the recognition—it was something he was used to, and he had no problem leaning into it.

His gaze swept over the room, naturally lingering on the women who were stealing glances at him. A cocky smirk curled at the corner of his lips, and just for fun, he threw in a wink. A playful smile for good measure. Yeah, he knew the effect he had. Confidence? Absolutely. Arrogance? Maybe just a little. But it was the kind of charm that turned heads, and really, who could blame him? Jack Hughes wasn’t just another guy in the crowd—he was the one people noticed.

And he loved every second of it.

Jack was used to this. It was familiar. Easy. But then—he saw her.

She wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t whispering about him, or sneaking glances, or batting her lashes like so many others did. She was behind the counter, focused on her work, crafting drinks with effortless precision, her movements fluid and practiced. There was something about her—a quiet warmth, a presence that made the entire room feel at ease. She wasn’t just beautiful; it was the way she carried herself. Feminine yet self-assured, graceful but never trying too hard.

Jack felt it immediately—the pull. Like gravity.

His heart did this stupid little stutter, and before he even realized it, he was just standing there. Staring. What the hell?

This wasn’t him. Jack Hughes didn’t freeze up over a girl. He’d had flings, fun, no-strings-attached moments. He knew how to flirt, how to charm, how to walk away before things got complicated. But right now? None of that seemed to matter.

Get it together, Hughes, he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to look away.

But then, as if she’d felt his gaze, she looked up. Their eyes met.

And in that instant, something shifted.

It was subtle. Electric. She had this knowing look on her face, like she could see right through him. Like she already had him figured out before he could even open his mouth.

And for the first time in a long time, Jack Hughes wasn’t the one in control.

Jack leaned on the counter, trying to play it cool, but he couldn’t shake the pull he felt toward her. When she finally looked up, their eyes met, and for a second, the usual confidence he wore like a second skin seemed to fade.

She raised an eyebrow as she set her hands on the counter, a half-smirk forming on her lips. "Can I help you?"

Jack blinked, catching himself. "Uh, that depends. You serving coffee... or are you in the business of making guys fall in love too?" he said with a grin, though it came out a little less smooth than he intended.

She didn’t even flinch. "Just coffee. And bad pickup lines? They cost extra."

Jack chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ouch. Brutal." He leaned in, dropping the cocky act just a little. "Alright, alright. I’ll take a latte. And a blueberry muffin. Gotta keep it classic, you know?"

"Classic? More like predictable," she replied, tossing a glance over her shoulder as she started on his drink.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You analyzing me now?"

She didn’t even look at him as she spoke. "Not really. Just guessing you’re the type who thinks a smirk and a couple of cheesy lines will get you anything you want."

Jack froze for a moment, a little taken aback. "Whoa, right in the heart," he said, putting his hand over his chest in mock offense.

She didn’t even look at him this time. "You’ll survive. Might even build some character," she added casually as she reached for the milk steamer.

Jack smirked, his confidence flickering back. "Character, huh? I’ve got plenty. Some might even say too much."

She glanced up then, eyes dancing with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Yeah? And who exactly are these 'some'?"

He leaned in a little closer, almost leaning on the counter now. "Oh, you know... fans, teammates, my mom... definitely my mom." He winked.

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head, her fingers expertly crafting the latte. "Uh-huh. Sure, sounds legit."

Jack leaned back a bit, watching her. There was something about how she didn’t let him off the hook. It was... refreshing. "So what’s it gonna take?" he asked, trying to play it cool again.

"For what?" She finally met his gaze, eyebrows raised.

"For you to admit you’re already a little bit in love with me," he said with a teasing grin, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She slid his drink across the counter without a hint of hesitation. "Jack Hughes, right?"

His grin widened. "So you do know me."

"Oh, I know of you," she said, turning away to grab a napkin, clearly unfazed. "You’re a good player."

Jack straightened up, puffing out his chest. "Great player," he corrected her, but his tone was light, playful.

She looked over her shoulder, deadpan. "On the ice."

Jack laughed softly, the sting of her words taking a second to hit. "Damn, alright. Tough crowd."

She smiled, but it wasn’t the soft, flirty smile he expected. It was knowing. Like she already saw right through him. "Seen your type before. You walk in, flash a smile, throw out a line or two, and think the world’s just gonna roll over for you."

Jack leaned in again, his grin slipping into something more genuine. "And yet, here you are... still talking to me. Guess you must like it."

She hummed, considering this, before turning back to the machine. "Or maybe I just like watching a guy slowly realize he’s not as smooth as he thinks he is."

Jack’s smirk returned, and he picked up his drink. "So this is how it’s gonna be, huh?"

She winked, a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Oh, Hughes. You have no idea."

He laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed his muffin. "I’ve got to run. Practice later... but I’ll be back. You’re an interesting one." He winked, letting the last word linger a little longer than usual.

“Do not threaten me, Hughes,” she shot back, her voice dry but that little smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Jack turned to leave, his mind still buzzing from their conversation. He could feel her eyes on his back as he walked out the door, but this time, it wasn’t the usual adrenaline of a win. It was something else.

Maybe... just maybe, she was right. He was used to being in control, but with her? Yeah, she wasn’t having any of it.

—

The ice cream shop had a laid-back atmosphere, with a few customers scattered across the tables, quietly enjoying their frozen treats. The soft hum of conversation blended with the occasional clink of spoons against bowls and the low buzz of the freezer in the corner. The casual, easygoing vibe was the perfect backdrop for Jack to make his usual, attention-grabbing announcement.

“So, I met a girl,” he said casually, his grin practically glowing with satisfaction.

Luke didn’t even look up, already bracing himself for whatever absurdity was coming. Jack had that look—an announcement, followed by something outlandish. Thea, however, shot him a pointed glance, arching a brow in that skeptical way she did so well.

“Oh, here we go,” she muttered, barely containing her amusement.

Jack scoffed. “Wow, way to be supportive.”

Thea smirked, scooping a spoonful of chocolate ice cream into her mouth. “No, it’s just... every time you drop that line, I know I’m about to hear some delusional story about how she’s already swooning over you.” She shrugged with a grin. “Which, let’s be honest, is usually true. Flash that smile, and bam! Girls are basically tripping over themselves for you.”

Jack leaned back, clearly relishing the attention. “Exactly. It’s a gift.”

Thea rolled her eyes and casually tossed her hair over her shoulder. “No, it’s just an ego boost. You’re like a baby with a bottle—constantly sucking up the attention.”

Jack, looking entirely unbothered, twirled his spoon. “Can you blame me? I mean, why not appreciate what I’ve got?”

Luke looked up now, giving Jack a resigned look. He was ready for the same tired routine. “Jack, have you ever thought that maybe—just maybe—not every girl is going to fall for your whole act?”

Jack shot him a glance like he’d just suggested the most absurd thing. “Why would I think that? It’s never happened.” He paused, then added with a touch of uncertainty, “Okay, she’s a tough one, but she’ll come around. I think she just likes to play hard to get.” He could see the truth in her eyes—she wasn’t interested—but admitting that wasn’t an option. Not with his brother and Thea around.

Thea snorted, clearly amused. “Oh, the delusion’s strong with this one.”

Jack leaned forward slightly, tapping his fingers on the table with a confident smirk. “I’m not delusional, I’m just a realist. And the reality is... I’m me.” He paused for effect. “And I don’t lose.”

Thea let out a dramatic laugh, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Jack frowned, confused. “What’s so funny?”

Thea took another bite of her cone, her grin widening. “You. Thinking you’re untouchable. I love the confidence, but one day, some girl’s going to make you look like a fool.”

Jack scoffed, shaking his head. “Please. Do you have any idea how many girls would kill for a shot with me? I could walk out of here and just point at someone, and they'd be all over me.”

Luke, who had been watching the exchange unfold, finally spoke up. “Yeah, except for this one. I’m guessing she’s got a little more sense than that.”

Jack groaned, dramatically rubbing his face with his hand and shooting Luke an exasperated "you little shit" look. “Oh, come on. You make it sound like I don’t have options. I’m Jack Hughes guys—the same guy who got a date with three different girls at last week’s game.”

Thea rolled her eyes again. “Oh yeah, that’s really a sign of emotional maturity.” She shot Luke a knowing look.

Luke just smiled faintly, shaking his head. “If Jack’s ego ever took a hit, we'd probably need a whole therapy session.”

Jack flashed a smug grin, fully aware they were kind of right. “Ego? What ego? I’m just stating the facts.”

Thea leaned in, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Sure. State your facts. But you’re missing one thing, Jack.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what’s that?”

She tilted her head, clearly loving the moment. “This girl doesn’t want you.”

Jack’s smile faltered just a touch, but he quickly recovered. “Everybody wants me.”

Thea shook her head, the smirk never leaving her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jack jumped in before she could.

“Okay, maybe except you!” He threw his hands up in mock frustration. “But that’s not my charm’s fault. You just have a thing for younger guys, so I never stood a chance. You pedo…”

Thea’s cheeks flushed, and she slapped his arm lightly, her voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Jack, you can’t call me that, you arrogant prick! Show some respect to your elders!”

Jack smirked, unfazed. “Oh, yes, yes… sorry, Ms. Senior Citizen.”

Luke chuckled softly, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but be impressed with how Thea had grown into herself. At first, their six-year age gap had made her uneasy, but Jack, being Jack, never passed up a chance to remind her of it. Luke knew Jack played this game on purpose—his teasing made Thea realize the age gap wasn’t as big of a deal as she’d thought. And over time, she’d become more confident, even starting to enjoy Jack’s dark humor. Of course, she’d never admit it, and Luke was thankful for that. Jack didn’t need any more ego boosts.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Luke muttered under his breath, as if preparing himself for the inevitable chaos. It wasn’t a prediction—it was a certainty. Jack wasn’t going to let this girl slip away, he new that.

Jack waved him off, though his signature, idiotic grin only grew wider. “Relax, Lukey. I’m unstoppable. She’s going to like me. Trust me.”

Luke sighed, leaning back in his chair, his fingers pressing against his temples as he massaged his forehead. “Ohhh, this is going to be such a disaster.”

Jack finished off his ice cream, still blissfully unaware of the train wreck he was about to walk into. “You two are the worst. But mark my words, she’s going to like me.”

Thea winked at him. “No, we’re just not here to feed your delusion, Jacky. You could use a reality check every once in a while.”

Jack rolled his eyes, the mischievous grin still tugging at his lips. “You know what, Lukey? Maybe you should upgrade her to someone a little younger…”

“JACK!” Luke and Thea shouted in unison, but Jack only laughed, clearly finding his own joke far too hilarious.

—

Jack pushed open the door to the coffee shop, the familiar chime of the bell ringing through the night air, but tonight, it sounded more hollow than usual.

It was late—too late—the kind of late when the world seems to shrink into itself, wrapped in the silence of the night. The air carried the warm scent of coffee and sweet pastries, but Jack barely noticed. His mind was still spinning from the game. The Devils had lost, and his mood mirrored the dark sky outside—heavy, empty, and far too cold. Yet, despite the bitterness of defeat lingering in his chest, there was something else that kept nagging at him.

He wanted to see her.

The girl behind the counter.

It was absurd, he knew. He didn’t even know her name. But ever since the game ended—ever since he’d sat in the locker room, listening to Nico’s half-hearted attempts at positivity—his thoughts kept drifting back to her. Why? It didn’t make sense.

He glanced around, expecting the usual warmth and buzz of conversation that made the place feel so cozy. But tonight was different.

The lights were dim, and the usual chatter had faded—most likely because it was just two minutes to closing, and the last of the customers had trickled out.

Jack’s eyes immediately found her behind the counter. The girl from before.

The moment she saw him, her expression shifted, just slightly—a brief flicker of annoyance before her face went completely neutral. He could tell she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him, especially not this late.

Jack leaned against the counter, flashing his trademark easy smile. “Hey there.”

She looked up, the briefest flicker of recognition crossing her face before it disappeared. She sighed quietly, clearly not in the mood. "You again," she muttered under her breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "What do you want this time?"

Jack grinned, undeterred by her tone. “Actually, I realized I never got your name last time.”

She blinked, taken aback. “Seriously? You came all the way back just for my name?” She paused, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I must be pretty special, huh?”

Jack shrugged like it was no big deal. “Guess I was too busy trying to charm you last time. But hey, I did promise I’d come back.” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “So now that I’m here… what’s your name?”

She rolled her eyes but grabbed some fresh milk from under the counter. “It’s Anja,” she said flatly.

Jack raised an eyebrow, as if savoring the name. “Anja, huh? Definitely sounds foreign.”

Anja shot him a dry look, hands almost slamming the milk into the fridge. “Yep. My dad’s German, my mom’s from New Jersey. Pretty exotic, right?”

Jack’s grin faltered for a moment, surprised. “Wait—your dad’s from Germany? That’s… interesting.” He paused, then added with a laugh. “That’s one combo I didn’t expect. My buddy Nico’s German too. He was born in Switzerland.”

Anja froze, staring at him. Then blinked slowly. “Wait—what?”

Jack, clearly proud of his random connection, rushed on, oblivious to her confusion. “Yeah, Nico’s our captain, super chill guy. Always telling me I should visit him in Switzerland one summer. We haven’t done it yet, but maybe next year. He’s like a brother to me, honestly. Don’t tell my real brothers, though—they’d flip. They get jealous if I even mention Nico.”

Anja raised an eyebrow, already knowing Jack had a habit of overestimating the significance of himself. She stared at him for a moment, then couldn’t help it—she burst into laughter. “No, Jack… Switzerland’s not in Germany!” She bent forward slightly, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Jack blinked, feeling a little foolish, but he wasn’t about to back down. “What? It’s a county in Germany, right? Somewhere near... uh, Munich…?”

Anja’s eyes widened, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. She let out a laugh, half-pitying, half-astonished. “Oh my God, Hughes. Switzerland and Germany are two completely different countries.” She shook her head slowly, as if he’d just told her the Earth was flat. “You’re telling me your best friend’s from Switzerland, and you have no idea where the hell is that? Seriously, could you be more American?”

Jack winced, but a grin quickly crept back onto his face, clearly unbothered by his own ignorance. “Hey, don’t forget, you’re half American too, so no need to get all high and mighty on me.”

Anja raised an eyebrow, her grin widening as she crossed her arms.“Sweetie, you’re the one who thought Switzerland was a county.”

Jack shrugged with a playful grin, raising his hands in mock surrender, his smile never faltering. “Alright, fine. But I’ll take this as a win. I’ve officially upgraded to the ‘sweetie’ category.”

Anja shook her head, still chuckling at his relentless self-confidence. “A lost cause, Hughes. That’s what you are… a lost cause.” She gave him an exasperated look, but the corner of her mouth quirked up. “Maybe try opening some books next time. Girls like guys with an actual brain.”

Jack waved it off dismissively. “I’ll let you know I do read. But yeh my brother Quinn is the nerd. Seriously bookish. Let me tell you, it’s not helping him. He’s got zero game.”

Anja flashed a playful grin and leaned in closer, the sudden proximity making Jack’s heart skip a beat. Her perfume—a fresh, orange scent that reminded him of a rain-drenched forest—hit him like a bolt of lightning. It was warm, feminine, and intoxicating. He couldn’t help but notice the way the scent seemed to pull him closer, but he did his best to keep it together.

She lowered her voice just enough to make him focus. “Or maybe... he’s just a normal guy who doesn’t want every woman’s panties to drop the second he meets them.”

Jack swallowed, his eyes flicking to her mouth, noticing the way her lips parted just slightly as she spoke. He tried to focus, but the air between them was thick with tension, the heat of her so close to him throwing him off. “Or maybe…” He leaned in, his voice dropping low, his words teasing as his gaze lingered on her lips. “He just overthinks everything. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow in life, you know?”

Anja shook her head with a soft smile, muttering under her breath as she crossed her arms. “As I said, lost cause,” she added, only half-amused, half-exasperated.

Jack laughed, relieved she was still in the game. He gave her a wink, the confidence in his smile almost irresistible. “But a charming, good-looking, lost cause, right?”

Anja rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips and the amusement in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t really bothered. Her eyes briefly caught his, and for the first time, she noticed how his blue eyes weren’t just any shade—they had this grayish undertone that made them look almost stormy. It was enough to make her pause for a moment, but she snapped back to the banter with a playful glint. “You really should’ve opened a geography book sometime. You can’t disrespect your friend this much. At least learn the basics about the poor guy’s life if you want to be his bestie.”

Jack’s grin widened as he leaned in, his light brown wavy hair falling slightly into his eyes, his expression a mix of challenge and charm. “Hey—I’d happily let you teach me about Switzerland... or anything else. To be fair, I’d let you do anything with me.”

Anja let out a breathless laugh at his boldness, shaking her head, but her eyes softened as she met his gaze. “Yeah, keep dreaming, Jack.”

Jack winked. “Believe me I will. But seriously—just give me a chance. Let me prove myself to you.” Anja rolled her eyes again, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “Whatever, Jack. You can beg, but the answer is still no.”

Jack didn’t hesitate. The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, and before he could second-guess himself, he dropped to his knees with all the dramatic flair he could muster, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

Anja froze, her eyes wide, the mug she’d been about to place on the shelf still dangling in mid-air. “What the hell are you doing?!” she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and something else—amusement, maybe. It was hard to tell.

Jack tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes, still kneeling with a grin that stretched wider. “You said I can beg, but I wasn’t really begging yet, was I? Let me show you just how good I can be at it.” He fluttered his lashes and gave her the full-on puppy-dog eyes, cranking up the charm.

Anja stared at him for a solid minute, her brain clearly processing the absurdity of the situation. Then, as if a switch had flipped, she burst out laughing. “You’re insane,” she said, shaking her head, stepping back like she needed to regain some personal space from this level of ridiculousness.

Jack, still on his knees, leaned in a bit closer with dramatic theatrics, his grin widening. He clasped his hands together like he was about to give a TED talk.

"Anja, hear me out," he began, voice dripping with over-the-top sincerity. "I know you think I’m a lost cause, but I’m not just any lost cause. I’m your lost cause. And let me tell you why."

He paused for effect, then continued, ticking off his points like a lawyer making a case. "First off, I’m a party. You want a good time? I’m your guy. I can keep things fun, always ready for an adventure, never a dull moment."

He held up a finger, ready to deliver his second point. "Next, I’m a manwhore. And I know what you’re thinking—‘Jack, that sounds bad!’ But no, hear me out. Being a manwhore means experience. I know how to make people laugh, I know how to charm, I know how to—" He shot her a wink. "Well, I know how to do a lot of things. So... experience? Check."

Jack then leaned back dramatically, spreading his arms out. "And, let’s not forget, I’m a hockey player. I’m rich, athletic, and—" he gave her a sly grin, flexing his arm slightly, "look at these muscles. I’ve got the athletic build, which means a lot of energy to spare. And when I’m not working out, I’m probably... in the kitchen making all the mistakes with cooking. And that’s actually a good thing! Because you—" he pointed at her, "You can be the queen of the kitchen, living out your baking dreams while I try not to set the stove on fire. My kitchen? Practically untouched, new condition. You can take over anytime."

Anja rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t ready for what came next. Jack, still grinning, suddenly pulled his shirt up slightly to expose a well-defined set of abs. His muscles flexed with a little extra dramatic flair. "See this?" He flexed again, holding the pose for a moment. "Hard work, dedication... and honestly, a whole lot of charm. You can’t argue with that, right?"

Anja froze, her eyes wide with disbelief. She stood there for a moment, trying to process what she was seeing, before rushing to Jack. Kneeling beside him, she reached for his shirt, fingers scrambling to grab the fabric. She shot him a look of shock. “Oh my God, Jack, put it down! This is insane.” She yanked at his shirt, but Jack grabbed her wrist. His grip was unshakable, and he used his position on the ground to keep her from pulling away.

He moved closer, a glint of mischief in his eyes, clearly enjoying every moment of his act. “I’m just proving a point. I’m the full package, Anja—athletic, a manwhore, experienced, and a terrible cook. The perfect guy to have fun!”

Anja gave him a look that was half disbelief, half amusement—as if saying, "Even you don’t believe this." She tried to pull her hand away, but Jack kept his grip tight, holding her wrist steady as his grin grew wider.

Jack shrugged, unfazed by the situation. “Alright, alright, maybe my geography’s a little off. But here’s the deal: You get to be the smart one with all the answers, and I’ll just nod and smile while you school me. It’ll be your show—I’m basically signing up to be your personal cheerleader. You’re the brains, I’ll be the brawn. Need a little backup? I’m your guy.”

Anja shot him a pointed, exasperated look, surprised but slightly amused as he kept his hold on her wrist. “So, Anja, what do you think? I’m the full package—fun, rich, athletic, kind, supportive, and amazing. What more could you possibly want?”

Despite herself, Anja laughed, though she fought to hold her composure. “This is the worst pitch I’ve ever heard in my life, Jack. Seriously, put your shirt down already.”

But Jack didn’t move an inch. "You know you want to. I’m practically giving you the world here. I can be your support, your personal cheerleader. You’ll be the brains of the relationship, and I’ll—"

"—Be the ‘muscles,’ right?" Anja interrupted, raising an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk.

"Exactly! I'll be your biggest fan, always backing you up. And hey, I’m probably the best at making people laugh too.”

Anja couldn’t help but stare at him—this insufferably stubborn, over-the-top guy—and, much to her own surprise, found herself laughing again. “Hughes, you’re a complete idiot. But fine,” she sighed, shaking her head, “I’ll give it to you—you’ve got muscles... and, I guess that counts for something?”

Jack shot her a wink. “Oh, it counts for everything, Anja. Everything. So, what do you say? One coffee, no weirdness?”

Anja hesitated, still gripping his shirt, then let out a long sigh. "Fine. One coffee. But just so we're clear, Hughes—this is strictly a friend thing. No boyfriend talk. I’m not looking for anything, and I definitely can’t handle you as my boyfriend.”

Jack released her wrist, smoothing out his shirt, his grin still in place but with a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Deal. I’ll settle for the friend date. A desperate man takes what he can get.”

Anja rolled her eyes, half amused. "Just... no flexing, alright?"

Jack chuckled, giving her a mock salute. “Alright, alright—I'll behave.”

–

And Jack wasn't lying, about him being on his good behaviour.

He pulled up in his sleek car just as Anja finished her shift a couple days later. The neon lights of the coffee shop flickering behind her. She stepped out into the crisp evening air, shaking off the exhaustion of her shift, her apron swapped for a simple jacket. Jack leaned over from the driver’s seat, his grin wide, like a cat who’d just caught its prey.

“Ready for our coffee date, Anja?”

Anja rolled her eyes dramatically as she slid into the car, amusement flickering across her face.“It’s a friend date, Jack,” she corrected, her voice dripping with mock annoyance. “And what’s the plan? Where are we going?”

Jack’s grin widened. “Well, about that…” He gestured toward the empty streets. “It’s a bit late, and all the normal coffee shops are closed. But don’t worry, I’ve got a backup plan.”

Anja raised an eyebrow.”Yeh that's what I’m afraid of.”

“No, no. You’ll love this. Trust me.”Jack chuckled.

A few minutes later, they pulled up to an old, charming bookstore that looked like it belonged in another era—warm light spilling from its windows, a glowing sign that read Open 24 Hours. It had the kind of inviting presence that made you want to step inside and stay awhile.

Jack parked and motioned for Anja to follow him in.

“This is… a bookstore?” she asked, her tone laced with skepticism but also curiosity. As she stepped through the door, the scent of old pages and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around her like a comforting embrace.

“Not just any bookstore,” he said, his tone teasing. “It’s got a coffee shop inside. And pastries. Perfect place for a late-night coffee date, if you ask me.” Jack flashed a smirk, leading her toward the back. “And you thought I’ve never read a book in my entire life—guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

Anja smiled sweetly, shaking her head as she followed him. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Not ridiculous. Creative,” Jack corrected with a grin.

Inside, a barista was still serving warm drinks to a couple of late-night readers, the soft hum of conversation blending seamlessly with the crackling of an old record playing in the background. Cozy armchairs and beanbags were scattered throughout the room, creating an intimate, almost dreamlike atmosphere.

Anja glanced around, taking it all in. The soft lighting, the inviting scent of coffee and something sweet—chocolate, maybe—it all made the space feel like a quiet little world of its own. A place where time didn’t feel so urgent. “Okay… I’ll admit, this is actually kind of nice. Cozy, even.”

Jack flopped onto a nearby beanbag, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “See? You can’t always judge a book by its cover.”

Anja groaned. “You’ve been in prime form tonight, haven’t you?”

“Hey, I’ve got plenty more where that came from,” he shot back, flashing her another confident smile.

He studied her for a moment before speaking again, his tone softer. “What if we swap coffee for hot chocolate instead?” His playful edge had slipped away a little. “Figured something warm and sweet might be better this late.”

Anja raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden thoughtfulness. “Hmm, actually, that sounds really good. It is too late for coffee, and I could use a decent night’s sleep for once.”

Jack’s smile deepened, satisfied with her answer. “Good choice,” he said with a wink before heading to the counter.

When he came back, he wasn’t just carrying hot chocolate. Along with the two steaming mugs, he had a plate of warm pastries, their flaky layers golden and crisp. He set everything on the small coffee table between their beanbags, the sweet smell of cocoa and butter filling the air. Something about the simple gesture—just them, the warmth, the food—made the moment feel unexpectedly intimate.

Anja dropped her coat to the floor and sank into her beanbag, letting out a soft sigh as she got comfortable. Everything about this night felt softer, easier than she’d expected.

“I really wasn’t expecting this… but it’s nice.” She reached for her mug, glancing at him. “Just don’t let the compliment go to your head.”

Jack smirked as he leaned back, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “No promises.” He picked up a pastry and held it out to her. "I figured you'd appreciate a little something sweet to go with the moment."

Anja hesitated for only a second before taking the pastry. As she bit into it, the warm layers melted on her tongue, and she let out an involuntary hum of satisfaction.

“Okay,” she admitted, taking another bite. “You’re definitely not wrong about this.”

Jack watched her, the sound of her hum catching him off guard, a hint of something shifting in his chest.

As they sipped their hot chocolate the café around them felt like its own little world—soft lighting, the distant murmur of pages turning, the quiet clinking of mugs against saucers.

Anja curled deeper into her beanbag, fingers wrapped around her mug, letting its warmth seep into her hands. Jack stretched out in his seat, looking just as content, his usual energy softened.

When they finished, Jack set his mug down with a satisfied sigh and shot Anja a look. Then, without warning, he reached for her hand and pulled her up.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Anja blinked. “Go where?”

He gestured toward the shelves. “You can’t just sit in a bookstore café and not browse. That’s practically a crime.”

She huffed a laugh but let him lead her toward the towering bookshelves. As they wandered through the aisles, Anja ran her fingers over worn spines, occasionally picking up a book to flip through. Jack did the same, moving ahead of her, plucking books off the shelves without much thought.

At first, she didn’t pay much attention to his choices—until she caught a glimpse of the titles in his hands. The Odyssey. Moby Dick. War and Peace.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, staring at him like he’d just grown a second head. “War and Peace? Really?”

Jack raised an eyebrow, totally unbothered. “What? I’ve got layers, Anja. I like to read, too. Not geography books, as you already know, but serious stuff. Might surprise you.”

Anja let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You? The manwhore of the hockey world? Reading Tolstoy? I thought you were too busy with girls and hockey to have time for this kind of thing.”

Jack smirked, holding up the book like it was a trophy. “Ha ha, really funny.” He shot her a look, clearly not offended. “I’ll have you know, girls and hockey are not the only things in my brain.”

Anja scoffed, reaching out to snatch the book from his hands. She flipped it open, skimming a few pages before looking back up at him, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

“You actually read this?” she asked, holding up War and Peace like it was a foreign artifact. “Not just for, like, show?”

Jack placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Wow. Zero faith in me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, flipping through the pages. “Alright, prove it. Who’s your favorite character?”

Without missing a beat, Jack smirked. “Andrei Bolkonsky.”

Anja froze for a second, looking up from the pages, clearly thrown. “Wait, really? You’re an Andrei guy?”

Jack nodded, his expression dead serious. “What? You thought I’d say Pierre?”

“YES,” she said immediately. “Pierre’s the obvious choice. He’s way more... interesting.”

“Interesting? Pierre’s a hot mess for like, 90% of the book. The guy spends half his time getting lost, getting into trouble, and overthinking everything.”

Anja shot him a teasing glance. “Exactly. That’s what makes him interesting! He’s awkward, searching for meaning... vulnerable.”

Jack laughed, leaning closer to her. “Vulnerable? Or just indecisive? The guy can’t make a choice without spiraling.”

“That’s the whole point. He’s human. Complex.” She poked Jack’s chest with a finger, her eyes gleaming with passion as she leaned in just slightly, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

Jack moved closer to her, crossing his arms. “I’m sorry, but Pierre’s a disaster. Andrei knows who he is. He’s a leader, a soldier, a guy who gets things done. That’s why I like him.”

“Oh, please,” Anja scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Andrei’s the epitome of a brooding, pretentious sad boy. He spends the entire book sulking, acting like everyone else is beneath him.” She paused, a sly grin spreading across her face as if she’d just had a sudden realization. “Hmm, sounds kind of familiar, actually.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, a wide smile creeping onto his lips. “Are you calling me brooding and pretentious?”

Anja held his gaze for a beat, then shook her head. “Not exactly. But yeah, that sounds like you—at least the pretentious part. You’re not really the brooding type. You’re way too cocky for that. But I can definitely see some Andrei in you.”

Jack chuckled, a small spark flickering in his chest. He couldn’t help but like a woman who had both a strong opinion and a sharp mind. “I’m confident, not pretentious. There’s a difference. Andrei’s got his life together—he knows what he wants, he has standards, and he doesn’t just drift through life hoping things will work out. You can’t say the same about Pierre. That guy spends half the book lost in his own head, making bad decisions, and hoping the universe sorts it out for him. Andrei? He takes charge. If that’s who you’re comparing me to, I’ll take it.”

Anja shook her head, amused. “Not just that. Andrei’s just a ticking time bomb. All that ‘duty’ and ‘honor’... It’s like a mask he hides behind to avoid facing his own mess. You probably like him because, let’s face it, he’s a little bit like you in that sense as well.”

“Me? A mess? I’m hurt.” Jack let out a dramatic gasp.

Anja shrugged, a wicked grin playing on her lips. “Don’t act like it’s not true. You’re just like him. A little too obsessed with being ‘the guy who’s got it all together.’”

Jack smirked, shifting his weight casually as he placed Moby Dick back on the shelf next to them. “Andrei’s confident. I’m confident. So, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Anja raised her eyebrows. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But at least Pierre learns. He grows. Andrei? He just spends the whole book whining until—well, spoiler alert, he dies.”

Jack threw his hands up in mock disbelief, eyes wide. “Ouch. Ruthless. The guy goes through war, heartbreak, and personal tragedy, and you just—” He waved his hand dramatically. “Done. No sympathy?”

Anja grinned, flipping the book shut with a decisive motion. “Not my fault Tolstoy made him insufferable. I stand by Pierre.”

Jack looked at her, laughing in disbelief. “I can’t believe you read War and Peace and took Pierre’s side.”

Anja shot him a playful side-eye. “Oh yeah? You read it and picked Andrei. We’re clearly both making questionable decisions here.”

“I guess we can’t buddy-read Tolstoy together, huh?” Jack chuckled, shaking his head.

Anja crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Good. I’d hate to have to explain everything to you.”

“Unbelievable.” Jack let out an exaggerated sigh, while he tucked War and Peace under his arm again, giving her a teasing look. “Alright, book snob. Since you clearly think you know everything, what’s next? Are you going to try to convince me that Anna Karenina’s actions were justified?”

Anja gasped, eyes widening. “Jack. Don’t even start.”

Shaking her head, Anja grabbed a couple of books from the shelf, and Jack did the same. With their newfound selections in hand, they made their way back to their cozy beanbags. They settled in, the quiet rustle of pages filling the space between them.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Jack flipped through War and Peace, skimming familiar passages, while Anja lost herself in a biography of one of her favorite artists. The playful banter from earlier still lingered in her mind, but as she snuck a glance at Jack, something about the way he was fully immersed in his book made her pause.

She watched him for a moment, her smile softening. There was something oddly sincere about him like this—quiet, focused, different from the cocky, fast-talking guy she was so used to.

“Huh,” she murmured, more to herself than anything. “Guess I underestimated you, Jack.”

Jack didn’t look up immediately, but a slow, lazy smirk spread across his face. “It happens,” he said, finally meeting her gaze. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

Anja rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it. She turned her attention back to her book, trying to focus. But every now and then, she found herself glancing up—watching as Jack absentmindedly ran a thumb over the edge of the pages, completely absorbed in his book.

Anja took a deep breath, smiling to herself as she sank deeper into the beanbag. Maybe Jack Hughes wasn’t just a pretty face after all. And maybe, just maybe, this friend date wasn’t so bad after all.

—

Weeks passed, and what started as a single friend date grew into something neither of them had quite expected. Something real and deeper. Jack started showing up at the coffee shop every day after practice, sometimes before games, sometimes after. He’d slip in quietly, pulling his hood up, and find a corner table by the window. And there he’d stay, right where Anja could see him. It was like a routine now, something familiar and comforting.

He’d sit there, watching her work, the steady hum of the café filling the space between them as he lazily flipped through a book. On quieter days, when Anja wasn’t rushing from table to table, Jack would start talking—about hockey, the latest game, or whatever TV show had caught his attention. Their conversations stretched beyond the usual small talk. They argued about politics, books, their childhood, even their biggest fears. Jack was always challenging the way she thought about things, pushing her to question what she believed. And though it sometimes annoyed her, Anja couldn’t deny that she actually enjoyed it.

She began to appreciate the complexity in him, the layers behind the cocky smile and careless attitude. It wasn’t just the light teasing that made her laugh. It was the way he could discuss some silly tv show one minute and then dive into a heated debate about the latest political news the next. And sometimes, when their conversations would die down, Jack would pull out a book, burying himself in it while Anja went about her work. They’d fall into a comfortable silence, the kind only true friends could share.

More and more, Anja found herself looking forward to seeing Jack walk in. There was something about him that made everything feel a little more relaxed.

It wasn’t long before their friendship spilled over into texts. Casual check-ins after games, long messages about something that had made them laugh, or a random book recommendation. Anja, to her own surprise, found herself enjoying it. She’d thought it would be strange, having Jack’s name constantly flashing on her phone, but it wasn’t. It was… nice. She wasn’t sure when the shift happened, but somewhere between the books they’d shared, the heated debates, and the quiet moments spent together, Jack had become a friend in a way she hadn’t expected.

And now, as she glanced over at him, sitting in his usual spot, flipping through pages of Inferno by Dante, she couldn’t help but smile.

Then, as she turned to take an order at the counter, she heard laughter from across the café. She didn’t even need to look to know what was happening. Jack, as usual, had charmed a group of older ladies sitting near the pastry case.

“Oh, come on, Marge,” he said, grinning at one of them as he leaned casually on the counter. “You can’t tell me you weren’t a heartbreaker back in the day. I bet you had all the boys lined up.”

Marge, a widow in her seventies who came in every morning with her two best friends, waved him off with a playful scoff. “Oh, hush, you flirt. You’re just trying to sweet-talk me into buying you a cookie.”

Jack gasped dramatically, but his confident smile was still on his face. “Marge, I would never!”

Anja, overhearing the entire exchange as she filled a coffee cup, tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh. She bit her lip, shaking her head as Jack continued his antics, effortlessly charming the older women like he was born to do it.

But then, when his gaze flickered back to Anja, something changed. The easy, flirtatious grin softened. His shoulders relaxed. He still had that effortless confidence, that natural charm, but when it was just the two of them, it was different. He didn’t need to perform. He let Anja see something deeper—something quieter, more thoughtful.

She walked past his table, setting down a fresh cup of coffee without him even asking. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she murmured, shaking her head.

Jack just smirked up at her, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for her. “Yeah, but you like it.”

Anja rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue. Because maybe, just maybe, he was right.

–

Jack hated these nights.

Another brutal loss. Another night of feeling like the weight of the entire team was sitting on his chest. With Nico out, the pressure had been on him to step up, to push the team to a win. And he tried. He fucking tried. But it wasn’t happening.

And to make matters worse, the apartment wasn’t exactly peaceful.

A muffled whimper filtered through the wall. Then another. Then—Jesus Christ.

Jack clenched his jaw and rolled onto his stomach, shoving his pillow over his head as if that would help. Spoiler: it didn’t.

Luke and Thea were home. And happy. And apparently, they had absolutely no concept of thin walls.

And maybe Jack was just being petty, but it was hard not to feel... left out. Especially when he remembered how he’d been on with Anja these past few weeks.

Jack had never experienced a true friendship with a woman, but Anja was different. From the start, she made it clear that she only saw him as a friend—and that was fine with him. At first, he struggled to accept it, but over time, things shifted. They grew closer, spending hours together, laughing, talking, and sharing moments. Jack found himself explaining the New Jersey Devils to her—a tough task, especially since she was a Bruins fan and knew next to nothing about his team. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, and the fact that she didn’t seem to care made it even harder to keep his cool. Still, he couldn’t help but respect that she wasn’t one of those girls who swooned over him. It was... refreshing.

But still... there were nights, like tonight, when it hit him.

He couldn’t deny it—he was drawn to her. He loved their friendship, no question, but deep down, there was always that something more. That unspoken tension, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged. He wasn’t ready to face it. Jack didn’t do love. It was just sexual tension, he told himself. It couldn’t be anything more. After all, Anja was a beautiful, young woman, and he was a ridiculously good-looking athlete. Of course, they had chemistry. But that’s all it was.

And then there were nights like this, where his mind wandered off course, and instead of texting her—because that would be weird—he went back to his old habits. Hook-ups. Quick distractions. Just something to get his mind off things.

So, he picked up his phone and fired off a few texts. It was easier this way, he told himself.

It wasn’t like he wanted anything serious with anyone else. He wasn’t looking for that. But sometimes, he just needed a reminder that he could still get attention from people. He still had that pull. Even if Anja didn’t feel the same way.

He knew what he was doing wasn’t exactly healthy. But it was easier than dealing with the things that really mattered.

Five weeks since he’d met her. Four weeks since she had completely turned his world upside down. But that wasn’t her fault. He was the one who couldn’t seem to figure things out.

His phone buzzed almost immediately. But it wasn’t the message he was expecting.

A: Hey, Prince Charming.

Jack smirked, running a hand through his hair as he read the text. The nickname had started after their first friend date, when she’d looked at him with that amused glint in her eye and said he reminded her of a fairytale prince—all looks, maybe not completely dumb, but let’s be honest, not that smart either. He should’ve been offended, but for some reason, he fucking loved it when she called him that.

Another buzz.

A: So, that was a really shitty game. You sucked today.

Jack barked out a laugh. Jesus. He loved that this woman didn’t hold back. Everyone else always tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn't bruise his ego. Not Anja. She came at him full force.

J: Wow. Don’t hold back or anything.

A: I don’t do sugarcoating. You were bad. Like, painfully bad.

J: Yeah, yeah. I know. Thanks for the reminder.

A: Anytime, Hughes.

Jack shook his head, still smiling as he stared at the screen. His other texts—the ones he’d sent out looking for a distraction—were sitting there, unread. He didn’t even feel like checking them anymore. Instead, he rolled onto his side, typing out another response.

J: So what, you just text me to roast me, or are you actually gonna make me feel better?

A: Oh, I was getting there. You’re a disaster, but at least you’re a pretty disaster.

J: Pretty disaster, huh? Wow, really boosting my confidence here.

Jack rolled his eyes, but a small smile spread across his face.

A: You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do. You looked so sad out there today, I felt bad for you.

J: I don’t need pity. I need sleep.

He ran a hand through his hair, irritation creeping back in. The game had been brutal, and now he was staring at the ceiling again, the exhaustion weighing on him. Tomorrow’s practice would be hell if he didn’t get some sleep. His body was already aching from the game, and now this.

A: Oh, so now you want sympathy? Make up your mind, Hughes.

J: I’m just saying, I’m exhausted. And I’ve got thin walls here—Luke and Thea are having the time of their life, and I can’t escape it. I’ve tried everything. Nothing works.

A: Ah, poor thing. Just not jealous?

J: Trust me, the last thing I want to do right now is stick my dick in anybody. I don’t even know how Lukey does it. Guess being young helps… Maybe Thea was right about that stamina thing...

A: Jesus Jack! You really don’t have a filter. TMI! But…Well… I mean, if you need a place to crash, my couch is always available.

J: Wait, seriously?

Jack paused, blinking at his phone. He wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or serious. But there was a part of him that was already considering it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a night to himself that didn’t end with him staring at the ceiling.

A: Yeah, I’m serious. We’re friends. Even if this is painful for me to admit. And I live basically 10 minutes from you. Just come over.

J: …Wait, you actually want me to crash at your place?

A: Just don’t make me regret this, Prince Charming!

Jack chuckled. This… this was definitely unexpected.

J: Alright, fine. I’ll take you up on the offer. Thanks, Anja!

—

Jack stepped into Anja’s apartment, every muscle in his body groaning in protest.

His legs ached from the game, his mind was a chaotic mess, but right now, all he could think about was sleep. Real sleep. Not the restless, half-conscious tossing and turning that had been his last few nights. He needed to crash—hard.

And then he saw her.

Anja stood in the soft glow of the apartment, wearing loose, dark pajamas, her hair twisted up in a messy bun. No makeup, no effort—just her. Effortlessly beautiful, untouched by the outside world.

Jack’s brain stalled for a second.

How the hell was she this attractive without even trying?

He shook the thought away. It was exhaustion, right? Had to be. She was just… Anja. He was too damn tired to think straight.

So, Jack did what any man on the brink of collapse would do—he went straight for the bed, flopping face-first onto the mattress without asking.

Behind him, Anja leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. “You know the rules. Couch.”

Jack groaned into the pillow. “Anja. Please. My body is broken. My soul is hanging by a thread. And that couch? That couch is where souls go to die.”

Anja snorted. “You’ll survive.”

Jack rolled onto his side, his eyes heavy with tiredness, but he still managed to give her a slow, teasing glance. "You’re seriously gonna make me crash out there when there’s a whole king-sized bed right here?" He patted the mattress like it was the most inviting thing in the world. "Come on, that’s practically a crime against humanity."

Anja lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “You are humanity’s crime.”

Jack grinned. “Thank you.”

She sighed, rubbing her temple like she was already regretting every life decision that had led to this moment.

Jack pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Alright. Let’s make a deal. I’ll do anything. Literally anything. Name it.”

Anja smirked. “Anything?”

Jack nodded solemnly.

“I want—” she paused for dramatic effect “—a New York Rangers jersey.”

Jack’s face twisted in disbelief. “Okay, that’s just plain evil, darling.”

Anja smirked, knowing full well how much Jack loathed the Rangers. Her hockey knowledge was avarage, but she was well aware of the hostility between Jack’s team and their biggest rival.

Jack exhaled in frustration, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, new offer: I’ll make you breakfast.”

Anja let out a short laugh. “You can’t cook, Jacky. That’s basically a threat, not an offer.”

“Incorrect,” Jack said, giving her a playful look as he pointed at her.“I can cook. I just choose not to.”

Anja stared at him, unamused.

“Okay, fine,” Jack groaned, his hands raised in mock surrender. “I can make breakfast. Still counts.”

“That’s just eggs. And even those are awful,” Anja remarked dryly.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, still technically breakfast.”

“Anja,” he said, voice grave. “I am a man at his lowest. My body is failing me, my will to live is fading, and you—” he pointed dramatically at her “—have the power to save me.”

Anja blinked at him, unimpressed. “You are so dramatic.”

Jack pressed a hand to his chest. “I prefer passionate.”

She rolled her eyes again, exhaling like this whole act was physically draining her, and for a second, Jack thought she was going to send him to the couch anyway. But then she let out a long, resigned sigh, shaking her head like she already regretted it.

“One night,” she said, pointing at him sharply. “And no funny business.”

Jack shot up like he’d just been given a second lease on life, already pulling off his hoodie as he practically dove under the covers. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Anja muttered something under her breath about regretting this already, flicking off the light as she climbed into bed beside him.

Jack exhaled as his body sank into the mattress, tension bleeding from his muscles. But just as his brain started to shut down, he caught it—her scent.

That unmistakable mix of orange and peppermint.

It was everywhere. In the sheets, in the pillows, in the air itself, wrapping around him and settling into his skin like a slow, creeping warmth he hadn’t been expecting.

His body relaxed instantly, but his mind? His mind did the opposite.

He wasn’t sure why this felt different. Why she felt different. Why, after all the nights spent in beds that weren’t his, this—lying next to Anja, stealing her blankets, breathing in the scent of orange and peppermint—was the only thing that had ever felt right.

He hated how much he liked it.

Jack turned his head toward her, voice low, teasing. “You know, if you let me stay in this bed again, I’ll compose an original poem just for you.”

Anja groaned. “Shut up, Hughes!”

Jack grinned. “A sonnet, actually. Or maybe a haiku—short and sweet. You know, something like—” He cleared his throat, pretending to get serious before continuing, “Shall I compare thee to—”

Anja rolled over, cutting him off by slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Enough,” she murmured, her voice light but warm, with a hint of something almost... hesitant.

Jack blinked up at her, his lips still pressed against her palm. The room felt different all of a sudden, as if the air had thickened. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe something else entirely, but the shift between them was unmistakable.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

Jack could feel the heat of her skin against his face, and saw how her breathing slowed just a fraction, like she had only just realized how close they were. He should say something, crack a joke, break the silence. But for once, he didn’t.

And then—because he was Jack—he wiggled his eyebrows.

Anja blinked at him, like she was snapping out of a daze, and pulled her hand away, rolling onto her side. “You’re such a pain.”

Jack chuckled, stealing half the blanket. “And yet, here I am, still in this bed.”

Anja rolled her eyes, pulling her blanket back. “You’re lucky I’m not making you sleep on the couch. And honestly, how do you know what a haiku is? You didn’t even know that Germany and Switzerland were two different countries.”

Jack groaned, but the smile never left his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly. “I’m misunderstood,” he muttered, like he was truly burdened by it.

Anja laughed softly, the sound light and warm in the dim room. “Yeah, the real mystery, Jack Hughes. You’re dumb enough to confuse countries, but you’re cultured enough to drop haiku on me.”

“Hey,” Jack said, lifting his head and squinting at her with a playful grin, “I’m a complex man. Who loves literature.”

She rolled her eyes once more, but a smile played at the corners of her lips. “And that’s exactly what makes you so damn annoying.”

Jack smirked, sinking back into the pillows. “Glad to see you recognize my complexity.”

Anja sighed, still facing away, though Jack could feel the faint shake of her shoulders as she tried to stifle a laugh. “You really think you’ve won, don’t you?”

Jack relaxed into the bed, the warmth of her body and the soft sound of her laughter soothing him. “Oh, I know I have.”

Anja scoffed, but Jack could hear the smile in her voice. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Jack smirked, his eyes fluttering closed. “Oh, I will.”

—

Jack sat at the kitchen table, staring down at his coffee like it owed him money. His head was pounding, and the goddamn world seemed way too fucking chipper for his liking. His body was sore as hell from practice, but it was nothing compared to the frustration buzzing through his brain.

“You’re a ray of sunshine today, Jacky,” Thea chirped as she walked in, pressing a kiss to Luke’s head. Of course, Luke had to shoot her a goofy grin, like he was a damn golden retriever. Ugh. Disgusting.

“Shut up, pedo,” Jack mumbled, trying to sip his coffee without gagging. He didn’t care if his tone was off. He wasn’t here for their bullshit today.

Luke rolled his eyes, totally unfazed. “What the hell happened to you, man? You were all full of energy this morning—like, bouncing off the walls—and now you're just... this.” He gestured at Jack, who was hunched over the table like he was already dead inside.

Jack snorted, clearly not in the mood for a pep talk. “Maybe I’m just tired of people asking me why I’m an asshole. Get a new hobby.”

Yeah, Luke was right. He knew that. But honestly? He had way bigger problems right now. Like, Anja.

This morning had started off like some cheesy rom-com, and Jack was seriously starting to panic about it. He woke up, and there she was—her small, warm body tangled up in his, all soft and perfect. For a split second, he actually thought about kissing her—maybe snuggling, maybe even making her coffee. What the hell? When had he become the type of guy who fantasized about making coffee for someone? What was next, brunch? Fucking brunch?!

But, of course, it wasn’t until he was changing out of his hockey gear, post-practice, that he realized what a weird thought that was. He wasn’t exactly known for catching on to things quickly. He knew his flaws. But here he was, practically having a meltdown over the idea of wanting to snuggle.

And the worst part? The morning had been way too perfect for his comfort. Like, Anja didn’t even make the cuddling weird. Which, on any other day, would be a blessing. But now? He was thinking about her—and not in a “she’s a cool, funny friend” way. No, this was different. This was “I just woke up in her bed and I’m wondering if we should get matching coffee mugs” levels of insane.

They’d woken up, did the lazy morning cuddle thing—because apparently, Jack had no self-control—then they’d grabbed coffee. He’d cracked a few jokes about the news, she’d laughed like it was just another morning. And, damn it, it felt so normal. Too normal.

And then came the worst part: he kissed her on the cheek when he left. Like, a peck. And she blushed. She fucking blushed and wished him a good day like she was some picture-perfect, Hallmark-movie wife.

Did he just call her a wife? Oh, hell no. That couldn’t be a thing. He wasn’t ready for that.

He gulped down more coffee like it was going to fix this internal meltdown. The burn hit his chest, but the panic was still there. He had to shake it off. This was stupid. Anja was just a friend—no, not just a friend, she was a friend who he happened to share a bed with... and now apparently, his feelings? What the hell was happening to him?

Jack swore under his breath, rubbing his forehead. This wasn’t him. He was the guy who had no problems keeping things casual, no strings, no feelings. But now? Now he was screwing up his own rulebook. Anja is a friend…just a friend!

Jack sighed dramatically, letting his frustration hang in the air like a thick cloud. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on, alright? But I feel like a goddamn idiot. I’m not supposed to be thinking about this. I should be pissed about my game, but instead..." He rubbed his forehead, hoping it would somehow stop the mental chaos.

Luke, ever the observant little shit, raised an eyebrow. “So this is about her? Anja, right?”

Jack shot him a look that could’ve melted steel. “Well, no, I’m talking about the weather, Luke. Of course it’s about Anja. Who else would it be?” He paused, then—BAM—his brain hit him with a sudden revelation. Wait a second—this was actually Luke’s fault. “Actually, this is your fault, you know. If you and Thea weren’t busy mating like a pair of rabbits, I wouldn’t have had to leave the house yesterday!”

Luke’s smirk was already five miles wide. “Man, just admit it. You’re into her. You’re all mopey and pissy because you’ve got no idea what to do with it.”

Jack glared at him like he just insulted his entire existence. “Fuck off. I don’t do feelings. And I sure as hell don’t do snuggling.”

He immediately slapped his hand over his mouth, realizing he'd maybe over-shared just a bit.

Thea grabbed an apple from the fridge and plopped herself down on Luke’s lap “Snuggling? Snuggling? Oh, Jack, you are so gone.” She bit into the apple dramatically, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“You sure about that ‘no snuggle’ rule?”Luke teased, clearly enjoying the moment, as he lightly traced circles on Thea's exposed hip.

“Oh, Luke, do you remember what Jack said to Quinn?” Thea tilted her head, changing her voice to mock Jack. “‘Who said anything about it ‘meaning’ anything? I’m just here for the ride, bro.’” She smirked. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you.”

Jack groaned. “Oh, God, please, feel free to enjoy my suffering. It’s what you’re best at.”

Thea clutched her chest like she was watching the best drama unfold right in front of her. “Oh, I’m living for this. You know, those moments that are so painfully awkward and secondhand embarrassing that they keep you entertained for weeks? Jack Hughes falling in love—now that’s the kind of content I’ll be replaying in my head forever.”

Jack shot her a glare. He knew exactly what she was referencing. That was his line—the same one he threw at Thea when he caught her sneaking out of Luke’s room. Yeah, maybe he’d been a little too smug about it at the time. And sure, he knew she’d get her revenge eventually.

But honestly? Making his brother and his date uncomfortable had been way too much fun.

Jack would love to say he’d learned his lesson.

But he was way too much of an asshole for that.

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy every moment of this,” Jack grumbled, grabbing the last of his coffee and standing up. “Because this will be short. I’m just gonna figure my shit out. No more cuddling, no more kissing her on the cheek like I’m some goddamn romantic. I’m not built for this.” He slammed his mug down with a little more force than necessary. “I’ll find some random girl tonight, bang her, and get over this. Problem solved.”

Luke just shook his head, his curly hair bouncing with the motion, falling in soft waves across his forehead. “You know you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

Jack shot him an icy glare. “Shut up, Mr. Pedo Lover.” He practically growled as he stomped over to the sink, banging the mug down.

Thea and Luke exchanged a look, their smiles knowing. They didn’t even need to say anything, and it pissed Jack off even more. He muttered under his breath as he turned to leave the kitchen, needing to get away before he said something even dumber. But in the back of his mind, his thoughts kept running. Fuck. What the hell was he even doing?

—

The music pounded through the bar, a steady, brain-numbing beat. Jack Hughes barely noticed, his attention fixed on his beer as he took a slow sip.

He was in trouble.

Not because of the game. Not because of a fight. But because, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t find a single fucking woman he wanted to take home.

And that was a problem.

A huge problem.

This Sunday night was supposed to be easy. A big win finally, a few drinks, a quick fuck. No strings, no thoughts, no mess. That was the routine. That was him. And yet, here he was, staring into his beer like it held the answers to his fucked-up brain.

It was Nico’s slap on his back that snapped him out of it.

“Come on, man! What the hell’s up with you? You’ve turned down, what? Ten girls already?”

“Four,” Jack muttered.

Nico laughed, shaking his head. “That’s not like you, Jacky boy. You sick or something?”

Jack grunted, smacking Nico’s hand away when he pressed it to his forehead. He took another long swig of beer, hoping the alcohol would do something—blur the edges, dull the noise, drown out her.

Because that was the real problem, wasn’t it?

Anja.

The fucking Anja Syndrome.

Every girl, every goddamn girl, he measured against her. And every single one of them came up short.

Too blonde. Too tall. Too high-pitched. Too weird with her fucking drink.

It was bullshit.

Jack never gave a shit before. He didn’t care if they were tall or short, blonde or brunette. If they had a body and were willing, that was enough. And yeah, he knew that made him sound like a dick, but he was 23, a pro athlete, and he’d be an idiot not to enjoy the perks.

So why the fuck was he sitting here, empty-handed, second-guessing his entire goddamn existence?

“Come on, Jack,” Bas nudged him, nodding toward the bar. “That little blonde has been eye-fucking you all night. Give her some mercy.”

Jack glanced over.

Petite. A little too skinny, but she had pretty greenish-brown eyes and a face guys would probably call “cute.” She was fine.

She should be perfect.

But she wasn’t her.

Oh, fuck off.

No more of this shit.

This girl was hot, and she was ready to go. She was exactly what he needed to snap himself out of this bullshit.

“Perfect,” Jack muttered. Ignoring his teammates’ laughter, he downed the rest of his beer and pushed himself to his feet.

With long, confident strides, he crossed the bar, slipping back into the guy he used to be—the one who didn’t overthink, didn’t feel. He flashed his best smirk, the one that melted panties before he even said a word.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he drawled, voice dropping into that low, rough tone that always did the trick.

The girl beamed. “Hey! Took you long enough.” She giggled, the sound high and grating.

Jack forced a smirk. “You know how it is—can’t ditch the team right away.”

He didn’t care about the small talk.

Didn’t want it.

He just needed this to work.

“So… wanna head to the back with me?” He made sure his tone left no room for misinterpretation.

The girl’s eyes sparkled. “Of course.”

That was all he needed.

He took her wrist, weaving through the crowd until they reached the back exit. He’d spotted the terrace earlier—quiet, dim, completely empty. Perfect for what he needed.

And the second the terrace door swung shut behind them, Jack wasted no time.

He grabbed the girl by the waist, pulling her flush against him, his mouth crashing onto hers with a force that had always been enough. His hands slid down her back, gripping, squeezing, searching for that familiar spark—that fire that always ignited the second he got a girl alone.

But nothing came.

Not even a flicker.

The girl moaned into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair, pressing herself against him like she wanted to be devoured. It should have been hot. It should have sent a jolt straight to his dick, setting off that automatic chain reaction his body had perfected over the years.

But there was nothing.

Nothing except a creeping, cold frustration curling in his gut.

No. No, this was just in his head. He needed to push through it. He could push through it.

Jack deepened the kiss, tilting her head back as his hands roamed lower, his body pressing her into the brick wall behind them. He rolled his hips forward, desperate for his body to wake the fuck up, desperate for the heat to kick in, for the hunger to return.

Still nothing.

His pulse pounded—not with arousal, but with something dangerously close to panic.

What the fuck was happening to him?

The girl let out a high-pitched giggle, threading her fingers down his chest, her nails scraping against his shirt as she reached for his belt.

"Let me take care of you," she whispered, voice dripping with suggestion.

Jack flinched.

His stomach turned.

It wasn’t her voice.

It wasn’t her hands.

He sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to snap out of it. He could fix this. He just needed to focus.

He dropped his head to the girl's neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her throat, hands gripping her hips, fingers digging in. He sucked at her pulse point, dragging his teeth over her skin in the way that usually made a girl melt against him.

She gasped, arching into him, nails raking down his back.

Jack felt nothing.

His body was like a fucking corpse.

Dead.

Unresponsive.

Refusing to play along.

And then, before he could stop it, before he could shove it back down where it belonged—her face flashed in his mind.

Anja.

That smug little smirk she got when she knew she was right. The way she tilted her head when she was listening to him talk, like he was the most interesting person in the world. The fire in her eyes when she called him on his bullshit.

The way her body had felt against his that one night when they slept in the same bed.

The way he’d spent every second since aching to feel it again..

Jack froze.

His entire body locked up, his breathing sharp and erratic.

The girl noticed immediately.

"You okay?" she murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw, hands still working at his belt. "Just relax, baby."

Jack jerked back like he’d been burned.

Baby.

She wasn’t her.

She would never be her.

And for the first time in his life, that mattered.

"Fuck," Jack breathed, running a shaky hand through his hair.

The girl frowned. "What?"

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. "I— I can't. I— This isn’t gonna happen."

Her expression flickered with confusion, then shifted into irritation. "Oh, come on. You just need a little—"

She reached for him again, her hand slipping down toward his belt, but Jack caught her wrist before she could get any further.

"No." His voice was firm. Sharper than he intended.

She yanked her hand back like he’d slapped her, eyes narrowing. "Seriously?" She let out a harsh laugh, crossing her arms. "What, you bring me out here just to waste my fucking time?"

Jack exhaled heavily, raking both hands through his hair. His chest felt too tight, like his ribs were closing in on his lungs.

"You’re not her," he muttered, his voice raw, barely above a whisper. He shook his head, running a shaky hand through his hair.

"Fuck. You are not her."

And that was the problem.

Her gaze darkened with annoyance. "Oh, so it's me that’s the problem?" She scoffed. "Classic. Maybe next time don’t bite off more than you can chew, Hughes."

And with that, she spun on her heel, shoving open the terrace door and storming back into the bar.

Jack didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

His back hit the brick wall as he slid down, knees bent, head tipped back against the cold surface. His breaths were uneven, his entire body wound too tight, but still—nothing.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching uselessly in his lap.

His body had never betrayed him before.

Never failed him.

And now?

Now, it was screaming the truth at him.

The truth he’d been trying to ignore for weeks.

He didn’t just want Anja.

It was worse than that.

She was the only one who fucking existed.

And he was so. Completely. Fucked.

—

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. The girl in the back. His body refusing to cooperate. The cold panic that had washed over him like a wave when he realized it wasn’t just that he didn’t want her—he didn’t want anyone. Not unless it was her.

Anja.

That thought hit him again. Like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

He hadn’t realized how deep this shit went until now. He’d spent weeks trying to deny it, trying to make himself believe that it was just a phase. That he could get over it. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t because Anja wasn’t just someone he was into. She was the one. She was it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. His mind was too loud. He didn’t want to talk to anyone else. Not right now. Not when his entire body was screaming one thing.

Her.

He reached the street and stood there for a second, trying to get his bearings. The world around him felt off-kilter. Everything looked distant, like he wasn’t actually here, like he was floating in some fucked-up dream.

“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, pulling his phone out. He tapped through his contacts and hit the taxi app without a second thought. He needed to get to her. Now.

His finger hovered over the ‘Confirm’ button before he pressed it without hesitation. He didn’t even care if he was drunk—he couldn’t stay here, couldn’t keep sitting with the fucking mess in his head.

He could already feel the buzz from the alcohol, the remnants of the beers he’d downed earlier, swirling in his blood. But it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered except getting to her.

The ride felt endless. The city lights blurred outside the cab window as he stared at his phone, willing it to stop feeling like it was vibrating in his hand. His mind kept replaying the images of Anja—the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, the sound of her voice when she laughed at his dumb jokes. God, even the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating made him want to crawl out of his skin.

By the time the taxi pulled up to her building, Jack didn’t know if he was angry, frustrated, or just scared shitless. Probably all of the above.

He handed the driver a few bills without even looking at the change, already pulling the door open and stepping out before the car had even come to a full stop. He jogged up the steps of her building, his hands clammy, stomach twisted in knots.

When he reached her door, he didn’t ring the doorbell. He didn’t wait. He just raised his hand and banged on the wood, the sound echoing in the stillness of the hallway. He felt like he might pass out from the tension in his body, the anticipation clenching his chest tighter with every passing second.

It felt like forever before he heard the sound of footsteps. And then the door creaked open.

After a few seconds, he heard the shuffle of footsteps, and then the door cracked open to reveal a very unimpressed, very sleepy-looking Anja. Fuck she was beautiful.

She blinked at him. “Jack?” Her voice was groggy, her hair a mess. “It’s one in the morning.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said quickly. “I—I needed to talk to you.”

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Are you dying?”

“No.”

“Is someone else dying?”

“No.”

She squinted at him. “Are you drunk?”

Jack hesitated. “...A little.”

Anja let out a dramatic sigh and leaned against the doorframe. “Alright, go on then. What’s so important that you had to wake me up in the middle of the night?”

Jack opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Then ran a hand through his hair because shit, this was harder than he thought.

“Okay, so—” He exhaled sharply. “Something happened tonight, and I think I’m broken.”

Anja raised an eyebrow. “Broken?”

“Like, physically broken.” He gestured vaguely to himself. “Like… I had a girl—a very hot girl, by the way—practically throwing herself at me, and nothing. Not a damn thing.” He pointed at his own chest. “My body just—betrayed me.”

Anja stared at him for a second. Then, to his absolute horror—she burst out laughing.

Like, full-on, body-shaking laughter.

Jack scowled. “Okay, rude.”

“Oh my god.” She clutched the doorframe for support, laughing so hard she nearly lost her balance. “Jack, I swear, if you woke me up just to tell me you couldn’t get it up, I’m slamming this door in your face.”

“It’s not about that!” Jack groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Well, it is, but it’s also not.” He sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Look, I was with this girl, right? And she was perfect—like, objectively, guys would kill to be with her. And I tried, I really tried—”

Anja snorted. “Poor girl.”

“—but the whole time, all I could think about was you.”

That shut her up.

Anja’s smile froze, her laughter dying in her throat.

Jack swallowed hard. “That’s the problem, Anja. It’s you. You’ve ruined me.” He pointed at her like she was some kind of criminal. “I used to be great at this. No thoughts, just vibes. But now? Now, I go out, I find a hot girl, I do my thing—except I can’t do my thing, because all I can think about is how she doesn’t laugh like you, or talk like you, or smell like you, or—fuck, Anja—hell, even the way she breathed just annoyed the hell out of me.”

Anja blinked. “...The way she breathed?”

Jack threw his hands in the air. “Yeah! Stupid, right?! But it mattered! And you wanna know why? Because she wasn’t you.” He let out a frustrated noise, pacing in a small circle before turning back to her. “I fell, Anja. Hard. And I don’t even know what the fuck to do with it, because I’ve never—” He stopped, exhaling shakily. His voice dropped, raw and unguarded. “I’ve never been in love before.”

She stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted slightly like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh again or take him seriously.

Jack exhaled loudly, raking both hands through his hair. “So, yeah. I’m here. I’m standing on your doorstep like a fucking idiot, telling you that I’m gone for you. And I don’t even know what I expect you to do with that information, but I couldn’t not tell you, because keeping it inside was making me lose my goddamn mind.”

Silence stretched between them.

Jack’s pulse thundered in his ears as he watched Anja process everything he just blurted out like an absolute lunatic.

Then, slowly, she started smiling again.

And then—yep, there it was—she was laughing again.

Jack groaned. “Oh my god, Anja, I’m baring my soul here!”

“I know,” she gasped between laughs. “That’s what makes it so funny!” She wiped her eyes. “Jack Hughes, king of hookups, showing up at my door at one in the morning to tell me he’s emotionally constipated and in love with me? This is gold.”

Jack scowled, crossing his arms. “I take it back. I don’t like you anymore.”

Anja just grinned, stepping forward until she was standing right in front of him. “Too late, idiot.”

Jack’s breath hitched.

She was close now. So close that he could see the tiny freckles on her nose, the way her lips curled just slightly at the corners like she was still fighting laughter.

Then, before he could say anything else, she reached up and flicked his forehead.

“Ow,” Jack muttered, rubbing the spot.

Anja smirked. “That’s what you get for waking me up.”

And then—finally—she tugged him down by the collar of his hoodie and kissed him.

Jack froze for half a second before his brain caught up.

Then?

Then, he kissed her back.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t rushed or uncertain. It wasn’t a fleeting thing. This was everything he’d been missing, everything he didn’t know he wanted. The warmth of her lips, the softness of her touch, and the unmistakable scent of oranges that clung to her skin—it was intoxicating. He couldn’t breathe without it. Without her.

When they finally pulled apart, Anja’s smile was wide, like she’d just won something precious.

Jack blinked at her, heart pounding. “So, just to clarify… you like me too, right? This isn’t just, like, a pity kiss?”

Anja rolled her eyes, but the affection in her gaze was clear. “Yes, dumbass. I like you.”

Jack let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his entire body sagging with relief. “Oh, thank God.”

She laughed again, the sound like music to his ears, shaking her head as she pulled him inside.

And just like that, Jack Hughes—the guy who swore he'd never let anyone in—was completely, hopelessly lost.

—

It took Jack three months to finally introduce Anja to Luke and Thea. Not like he didn’t want to shout it out to the world the very next morning after his drunk love confession that Anja had said yes to be his girlfriend. The thing was, saying those words had felt strange, almost surreal for Jack. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had a real relationship—maybe back in high school? But high school felt like a lifetime ago. And back then, relationships were fleeting, brief. Nothing like what he felt for Anja.

But after meeting Anja, everything started to feel different. Jack couldn’t stop thinking about how he felt when he kissed her, when she smiled at him, when they were together, just the two of them. It wasn’t about sex, and that was the biggest shock to him. Every relationship he’d had before had always been tied up in physicality—chasing the high of the next touch, the next kiss, the next night. But with Anja, things were slower. The chemistry was undeniable, but they didn’t rush into anything. They took their time. And Jack was fine with that.

So when Jack finally brought Anja around Luke and Thea, it felt like a milestone. They immediately clicked with her and both of them could see how well Anja handled Jack’s sometimes overly confident, sassy nature. Anja, in her own calm, collected way, knew how to ground Jack. She didn’t put up with his antics, but she didn’t try to change him either. They balanced each other out perfectly. Jack made Anja more confident, and she made him more humble. The shift in him was noticeable—his arrogance softened when she was around.

Things between Jack and Anja were effortless, natural. They’d fallen into a rhythm—hanging out with Luke and Thea, then slipping into quiet nights together. They’d binge-watch their favorite shows, wander around town grabbing food at random spots. But as their connection deepened, so did the tension—the unspoken feelings Jack wasn’t ready to confront.

Anja had made it clear she wasn’t in any rush, but Jack noticed a flicker of impatience in her over time. And he understood why. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to rush things. He didn’t want to mess up what they had by diving into something physical, especially after everything he’d been through. Every other relationship had been based on attraction, and they’d all ended in disappointment. This time, he wanted something real. He wanted something that could last. He cared too much about Anja to risk ruining it.

Then came that night. After a double movie date with Luke and Thea, the evening wrapped up with everyone saying their goodbyes. Anja had laughed with Thea all night—joking and teasing like they’d known each other for years. Jack watched them, captivated by how easy and natural it all was. And more than once, he found himself just staring at Anja, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky to have someone like her in his life.

As Luke and Thea headed off to their room, Anja turned to Jack, her smile soft but knowing. She stepped into his space, her body warm against his as she slid under his chin, leaning into his chest. Jack’s breath caught, his heart rate picking up. The scent of her perfume only made everything more intense.

"Hi," she said, her voice low, playful.

"Hi, baby," Jack responded, his smile matching hers, but there was something more beneath the surface. He brushed a strand of her hair from her face, his fingers grazing her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. She was up to something.

Anja’s fingertip traced small, slow circles on his neck—light, teasing touches that were enough to make his body respond before his mind could catch up. "So, I was thinking..." she said, her voice filled with mischief.

"Dangerous thing to do," Jack teased, his voice rougher than he intended, heat already pooling in his chest. He could feel his body weakening.

Anja giggled, hitting him lightly on the chest. "Shut up, you."

Jack grinned, but his thoughts scattered. Her touch was like fire, and it was hard to think straight with her so close.

"Can I stay the night?" she asked, her voice soft, but there was an edge to it now—something more vulnerable, something Jack couldn’t ignore. "I’ve missed you these last couple of days. Your schedule’s been all over the place, and I’ve been working late shifts... It’d be nice to just snuggle with you. You know, wake up next to you."

Jack’s brain short-circuited. The thought of waking up beside her, of having her close, overwhelmed him. Just the way she said it—her words carrying something deeper—made his heart race. He couldn’t focus on anything else. She knew exactly what she was doing. The sly smile on her lips, the gleam in her eyes—it all made it clear she wasn’t just asking to stay. She was asking for something more.

Jack kissed her temple—soft, quick—before answering, his voice unsteady, without thinking, “Sure, Jaja. That sounds amazing.”

"Thanks, baby," she said lightly, almost singing the words. "I’ll just grab one of your T-shirts for PJs and take a quick shower."

Before Jack could even process it, Anja jumped up from his lap, leaving him sitting there alone, his mind racing. She was leaving him spinning, and he had no idea how to catch up. He tried to steady himself, but his thoughts were already scattered, caught between what he wanted and what he was afraid of.

“Minx,” Jack murmured under his breath, leaning back into the couch, running a hand through his hair. He knew exactly what she was doing, but he wasn’t ready to play along—not yet. Anja deserved more than a rushed moment while his brother and his girlfriend were just down the hall.

Still, the thought of her in his T-shirt, of her curled up beside him, made it hard to resist.

—

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think about anything else. Hockey stats. The weather. The existential dread of taxes.

Then the bathroom door clicked open.

Jack’s head snapped up.

Anja stepped out, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the bedside lamp. Her damp hair cascaded over her shoulders, darkened from the water, strands sticking to her collarbone. His breath stalled in his chest as his gaze drifted lower, catching on the oversized white T-shirt she’d chosen.

His T-shirt.

The fabric was old, worn thin from years of washing, clinging just enough to show the shape of her body. It barely covered her thighs, teasing at modesty—but when she moved, the dim light made the cotton damn near see-through. And under that shirt…nothing. Not even a pantie.

Jack’s grip on his phone tightened. Hard.

She knew what she was doing.

Anja smirked, catching the way his dark eyes flickered over her before he forced them back up. The way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast. She crossed the room slowly, stepping onto the bed, crawling toward him with deliberate slowness. Her fingers traced over his bare arm, featherlight, enough to make his breath hitch.

“You know,” she murmured, tilting her head, “I could have brought my own pajamas.” Her smirk widened. “But this just felt… better.”

Jack swallowed hard, his back pressing against the headboard like it could somehow create space between them. He needed to slow this down. He needed to say something—anything—to keep himself in check.

“Anja…” His voice was low, rough, a warning.

She didn’t let him finish.

Curling up beside him, she let her lips graze his jawline, barely a whisper of contact. Jack went still, every muscle in his body wound tight. Her breath was warm against his skin, her presence intoxicating, impossible to ignore.

“Relax, Hughes,” she teased. “I know what I want.”

Jack exhaled sharply, his hands flexing at his sides. He wanted to touch her. Badly. But if he did, there’d be no going back.

Anja’s fingers slid under the hem of his shirt, her nails tracing faint patterns across his stomach, slow, exploratory. “I want you, Jack,” she whispered against his ear. “Not just the careful version of you. I want all of you.”

Jack clenched his jaw, tilting his head back, fighting for control.

“Anja…” he ground out, his voice thick with restraint, “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

She shifted, straddling his lap, her hands gripping his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t I?” she challenged, her gaze locked on his.

Jack knew that look. The same one she’d given him in the bookstore the first night they met—the night they sat there, arguing over War and Peace, the night he’d felt something shift inside him. That knowing, unwavering gaze.

“I saw you, Jack,” she said softly. “Not just the cocky hockey player everyone else sees. Not just the guy who acts like nothing gets to him. I saw You. And I think—no, I know—that we are perfect for each other. So stop fighting. Stop being afraid that being yourself will chase me away. I trust you. With my heart, with everything.”

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear, her voice a breathless whisper.

“So take me, Jack.”

Jack’s restraint snapped like a frayed thread.

His hands found her waist, fingers pressing into her skin, pulling her against him. With a rough growl, he flipped them over, pressing her into the mattress, his body caging hers in.

His lips crashed onto hers, all heat, all desperation. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow. It was every moment he’d held back, every time he’d wanted her and hadn’t let himself have her.

Jack’s hand slid up, fingers curling around her throat, firm enough to make her breath hitch. His grip wasn’t tight—just enough to remind her who was in control. He crushed his mouth to hers, his tongue sweeping inside, swallowing the soft gasp she let out.

Anja rocked her soaked core against his thigh, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging, demanding more.

Jack pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his breath ragged, lips swollen, self-control slipping fast. “You sure you want this?” His voice was rough, almost a growl. “Luke and Thea are in the other room. And you won’t be quiet if we start, darling.”

His eyes locked onto hers—one last chance to stop him.

Anja arched up, pressing her body flush against his, nails scraping down his back, making him suck in a sharp breath. Her smile was wicked, teasing. “Pretty sure we’ve both heard enough of them to know they’re not exactly holding back.” Her lips brushed his ear, her voice pure sin. “It’s our turn.”

Jack’s smirk was slow, dark—pure fucking trouble. That cocky, self-assured look that had driven her crazy since day one.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over her throat, making her shiver. “You just opened Pandora’s box.”

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trashforbarzal · 2 months ago

Text

Age Is Just a Number…Right? - Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke. Age gap. Jack being a menace as usual, making sure you're not getting away that easy. Warning: Implied sexual situations, mature language, flirtation, age gap (6 years)

Note: Hey, lovelies! So, originally, this fic was all about Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith, but then I realized—Will is 19, and honestly, he’s just a baby to me. Even if he said he loves older woman. Boy go back to kinder garden. (Sorry Will, love you, I promise!) So, I decided to swap in the Hughes boys instead. I’ve gotta be honest, it gave me a bit of a headache. Now, this started as a quick, short fic. I swear, I had every intention of keeping it short. But, well… 7048 words later, here we are. I got hit with a ton of ideas and feelings, and the story just kind of... grew on me. You’ll probably notice the tone/style shifts halfway through, and I’m definitely sorry for that!

But hey, I hope you all enjoy it despite the wild ride! ❤️ For more fun: masterlist

The first thing you notice is warmth.

A heavy arm draped over your waist. The steady rise and fall of breath against the back of your neck. The scent of clean laundry, cologne, and something distinctly him clinging to the pillow beside you.

The second thing you notice—you are not in your own bed.

Your stomach flips as your brain reboots, sluggishly piecing together fragments of last night.

The blind date.

Luke.

His charming smile. The way his chestnut curls fell into his eyes when he laughed. The way he leaned in when you spoke, like you were the only person in the room. The teasing brush of his fingers against yours when he reached for his drink. The electricity that crackled between you when you finally caved—when he kissed you outside the bar, his hands firm at your waist, his body pressing into yours like he couldn’t help himself.

And then… more.

Your face burns as memory after memory floods in. His hands, his mouth, the way he whispered your name like it meant something.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Carefully, you shift beneath the covers, untangling yourself from his hold. Luke stirs but doesn’t wake, his arm slipping away as you ease yourself upright.

That’s when it really hits you.

He looks so young.

His chestnut curls are a mess, his lips slightly parted, his entire face softened in sleep. He looks… peaceful. Innocent, almost.

A strange unease settles in your stomach.

Your gaze flickers around the unfamiliar room. It’s nice but lived-in—hockey gear shoved into the corner, a few discarded clothes on a chair. Your eyes land on the nightstand, where his wallet sits slightly open.

You don’t mean to snoop. You really don’t.

But something about last night nags at you.

Just a quick peek. Just to make sure.

Fingers trembling, you reach for it, flip it open.

And your heart stops.

Luke Hughes. Age: 21.

Twenty fucking one.

As in, young enough to still pull all-nighters for fun. As in, could still be in college.

And you? You are twenty-seven.

Oh. My. God.

Your hands fly to your phone as you furiously type out a message to your friend.

"WHAT THE HELL?! YOU SET ME UP WITH A 21-YEAR-OLD. I AM A GROWN WOMAN. I PAY FOR MY OWN HEALTH INSURANCE."

No response.

Coward.

Panic thrums in your veins as you stare at Luke—still peacefully asleep, completely unaware that you are having a full-blown identity crisis in his bed.

You need to leave. Now.

Right?

But for some reason, you hesitate.

Because Luke… Luke is the first guy in a long time who actually made you interested. Who made you laugh so hard you snorted into your drink. Who listened—really listened—when you talked, instead of just waiting for his turn to speak. And, well. The man or more like a boy, had managed to get you to orgasm. Twice!

Which, considering your track record, felt almost miraculous.

Your past partners had barely managed to get you there once—if at all.

And now you’re just supposed to sneak out of here like it never happened? Like he was just another bad decision?

Your stomach twists.

But then you glance at the wallet again. Twenty-one.

Yeah. You need to go.

Sliding out of bed as silently as possible, you scan the room for your clothes. Your shirt is on the floor, your jeans halfway under the bed. You grab them quickly, yanking them on with the precision of someone defusing a bomb. Bra? Found. Socks? One is missing, but you’ll live.

Once fully dressed, you tiptoe to the door. Your shoes. They’re outside the room. You remember kicking them off in the hallway.

One deep breath.

You ease the door open, peeking into the dimly lit living room.

Empty.

Good.

You take two careful steps out, eyes locked on your shoes near the front door. Almost there. Just a few more—

“Busted.”

You scream.

Not a blood-curdling horror movie scream, but a very real, very startled yelp that absolutely does not help you maintain any dignity in this situation.

Your body jolts like you’ve just been electrocuted, arms flailing wildly as you spin toward the voice.

There, sprawled across the couch, is a guy watching you like this is the best morning of his life.

Tall. Ridiculously handsome. Light brown hair, messy in a way that suggests he just woke up. Sharp cheekbones. Blue eyes filled with pure mischief.

And a smirk so unbearably smug that you immediately want to punch it off his face.

You clutch your chest, heart racing. “Jesus Christ, who the hell are you?!”

The guy grins wider. “Damn. Didn’t even recognize me? That hurts.”

“Am I supposed to?”You blink, still catching your breath.

His smirk falters for half a second before returning full force. “Oh, that’s good. That’s really good.” He tilts his head, studying you like you’re some kind of rare specimen. “You actually have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Why the hell would I?” Your frown deepens.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, like this is somehow the greatest tragedy to ever befall him.

“You’re telling me,” he starts, sitting up slightly, resting his arms on his knees, fully entertained, “that you came home with my brother, slept with him, and have no idea who we are?”

Your stomach drops.

Brother?

You knew Luke had brothers—he mentioned it—but you had no idea they were famous.

Your eyes flick toward the bedroom, then back to him. “You’re—wait, you’re one of Luke’s brothers?”

He snorts. “Wow. No recognition at all. That is humbling.”

“Should I recognize you?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugs, mock-offended, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I guess I’m only one of the most famous people in this city.”

You blink, a little thrown off. “…You’re a local weatherman?”

He chokes, eyes widening. “A what?!”

“You’re acting like I should know you,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t keep up with the news, but you definitely have the vibe of a guy who points at maps for a living.”

He definitely doesn’t. If anything, he looks more like a kooky stripper with an annoyingly fit body. But there’s no way you’re feeding his ego—this idiot would probably take it as a compliment.

For a split second, he just stares at you, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Then, as if the tension snaps, he howls—full-body laughter, throwing his head back and wiping a fake tear from his eye.

“Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

You cross your arms, trying to mask the irritation bubbling up. “Glad I could contribute to your morning entertainment.”

“No, you don’t get it,” he says between gasps for air, leaning forward with an infectious grin. “This is amazing. Incredible. I live for moments like this.”

You raise an eyebrow, your patience wearing thin. “Moments like what?” you snap, unable to hide the rising edge in your voice. Honestly, you’re just relieved Luke didn’t inherit Jack’s over-the-top, obnoxious personality. If he had, you probably would’ve bailed on this blind date five minutes in.

“Moments where I get to witness something so spectacularly awkward, so painfully embarrassing, that it will sustain me for weeks.”

You glare at him with pure annoyance. “I hate you already.”

He clutches his chest dramatically. “Ouch. That wounds me.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Oh, no doubt.” He smirks, and for a moment, it almost reminds you of Luke—though the two brothers couldn’t look more different. But that same confidante smile? It’s unmistakable. “Especially since I now have the upper hand in every conversation we ever have from here on out.”

“We’re never having another conversation after this!” You try to sound firm, but your voice cracks, betraying you.

He just grins wider, shaking his head like he’s heard that before. “That’s what you think.”

You exhale sharply, fed up with the entire exchange. “Look, I’m leaving. Forget you ever saw me.”

“Not a chance.” He leans back against the couch, thoroughly amused. “You’re trying to sneak out of my baby brother’s room like a damn criminal. This is gold.”

You scowl again. “I’m not sneaking out.” You fumble with your shoes, trying to get them on while defending yourself. Luckily, the hallway and living room are one open space, making your escape a bit less awkward.

“You literally just tiptoed past me like you’re starring in Mission Impossible.”

You groan. "I was trying not to wake him up." Rolling your eyes, you keep wrestling with your damn laces—of all times to betray you, it had to be now. Frustration bubbles up as you huff, "I need to go."

Jack cocks an eyebrow. "Why?"

You freeze mid-motion, exhaling hard through your nose. "...Just because."

"That's not an answer." His arms fold across his chest, his gaze pressing into you like he’s daring you to crack.

Your stomach twists. Heat rises to your face. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to give him the satisfaction—but the words rip out anyway.

“Because I just found out I slept with a 21-year-old, okay?! I’m 27. That’s a six-year difference! That’s a whole presidential term and a little extra! That’s a—”

You stop, realizing how ridiculous it sounds now that you're saying it.

Jack stares at you, blinking. There’s a long silence before you speak again, but his expression shows no understanding of the mental chaos you’re in.

You sigh and tug at your hair in frustration. “I wasn’t expecting this. I thought maybe he was older, and now… I just don’t know how to feel.”

Jack, for the first time, softens his teasing expression. But it’s clear he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying.

“Well,” he shrugs casually, “you’re still not leaving. You’re stuck here until Luke wakes up.”

“No, I’m not.” You shake your head, stubborn.

“Yes, you are!”

Before you can argue, you hear movement from the bedroom.

“Jack, why are you yelling?”

Shit.

You freeze.

Jack just grins wider.

You turn, and there he is—Luke, standing in the hallway, shirtless, hair an absolute mess, looking at you with adorable confusion.

Jack smirks. “Oh, you know. Just chatting with your date about how she was totally about to dip.”

“Wait. You’re leaving?” Luke’s voice is a mix of confusion and hurt, and suddenly, you feel a wave of guilt wash over you.

You shift awkwardly, caught in the middle of it all. “I just… didn’t want to wake you.”

Jack snickers. “Translation: she found out you’re barely legal and panicked.”

Luke’s eyes flick to his nightstand, where his wallet still sits open.

“…Wait. Is this about my age?" He sounds confused—adorably so. Too adorably.

You open your mouth, but Jack is already cackling.

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Jack says, shaking his head. “She took one look at that ID and nearly had a full-blown existential crisis.”

Your face flushes deep red. Jesus, you really can’t stand that blue-eyed bastard.

Luke blinks, then sighs, clearly frustrated a little bit. “So, last night was… amazing, but now it’s a problem because I’m 21?”

You shift uneasily. “It’s not a problem, exactly. It’s just…”

Jack grins mischievously. “Hilarious?”

You glare at him, a mix of embarrassment and irritation burning through you. “Not the word I was going for.”

Luke tilts his head, watching you closely. “Did it feel weird last night?”

Your face instantly flames. “LUKE.”

Jack cackles. “Ohhh my God, this is so good.”

Luke shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m just saying. You didn’t seem to mind my age when you were begging for—”

You lunge at him, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Jack, leaning in with barely contained joy, grins wider. “Oh, no, let’s hear it! This is the best! I live for this shit.”

You whip around, shooting daggers. “Do you really have to be here?”

Jack places a hand over his chest, feigning innocence. "Of course I do. I’m just the clueless bystander, watching your meltdown. It’s my duty as a brother. How else am I supposed to tease Lukey later?"

Luke licks his lips, glancing between you and Jack. “Wait… so you’re really freaking out over this?”

You sigh, your frustration starting to boil over. "I just… didn’t realize you were so young."

Jack snickers from the side, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, no, I think she’s just overthinking it. But hey, it’s cute.”

Luke shoots him a glare. “Jack.”

Jack raises his hands, completely unbothered. “I’m just here to state the obvious.”

You groan, feeling a headache start to form at the base of your skull. "Can I just… go? Please?" The words come out sharper than you mean, but you’re too tired to care.

Luke looks at you, his gaze softening with that same sleepy affection from last night. You almost hate how it makes your chest ache. "You really want to leave?"

You pause for a long moment, considering.

And truthfully?

No.

You don’t.

Last night wasn’t just a fling—it was Luke.

Luke, who had you laughing through dinner, making you feel like you were the only person in the world. He treated you like you were someone worth admiring, someone worth cherishing. And when he kissed you, it felt like the first rainstorm after a drought, washing away everything but the two of you.

And now he’s standing there, messy-haired and sleepy-eyed, looking at you like he’s trying to figure out what’s going through your mind.

Jack, sensing the shift, leans back dramatically. “Ohhh, she’s thinking about it.”

You glare. “Shut up, Jack.”

Jack smirks like a little kid in the candy shop. “Nope.”

Luke lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with both hands, his puppy like eyes softening as he looks at you. "Alright," he mutters, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Let me make you breakfast before you decide I’m too young to function."

Jack perks up from the couch. “Oh, hell yeah. Stay. Luke makes a mean omelet.”

Luke shoots Jack a teasing glare, his eyes rolling in exasperation as he half-smirks. "Why are you even involved in this?" he says, clearly annoyed but with a playful edge, like he can’t decide if he should laugh or strangle his brother.

Jack shrugs dramatically. “Because I live for chaos.”

You hesitate for a moment, staring at Luke as you battle the urge to stay or run.

“…Fine. One omelet.”

Jack fist-pumps the air. “YES.”

Luke grins like he’s already won. “Good. Because I was going to make you stay anyway.”

—

You don’t know how you ended up here.

One second, you were committed to sneaking out like a thief in the night. The next?

You’re standing in Luke Hughes’ kitchen, watching him move around with annoying ease, pulling eggs and cheese out of the fridge like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jack, of course, is sitting at the kitchen island, grinning like the mischievous idiot he is.

“You look tense,” he observes, propping his chin in his hand and resting his elbows on his knees. “Regretting staying already?”

You shoot him a withering look. “I regret a lot of things. Letting you talk this morning is at the top of the list.”

Jack gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Ouch. And here I was, being such a warm and welcoming host.”

You roll your eyes. “You ambushed me.”

Jack shrugs casually, sipping his coffee. “Semantics.”

Luke, bless him, doesn’t engage. He simply smirks to himself as he cracks an egg into a pan, clearly used to Jack’s shenanigans. “Jack, are you actually gonna eat, or are you just here to be annoying?”

“Oh, I ate already. I’m just here for the show.”

You narrow your eyes at him, a smirk playing at the corner of your mouth. “Seriously, what’s your deal? You get some kind of thrill out of torturing me?”

He’s an asshole, but damn, he’s the kind of asshole that almost makes you laugh.

Jack flashes a devilish grin, clearly enjoying the chaos he's creating. "You're sharp. I like that. Smart women are way more fun to mess with." He leans back, arms crossed, his eyes twinkling with mischief as if he's already plotting his next move.

Luke huffs a laugh, the sound full of fond exasperation. He rolls his eyes, his messy hair falling into his face as he nudges Jack with his shoulder. “Just ignore him. He thrives on being a menace,” he says, shaking his head, but you can tell he's not actually mad.

Jack grins even wider, clearly proud of himself. “Yep. It’s what I do best,” he says, puffing out his chest like he’s just announced some kind of grand achievement.

You rest your elbows on the table, watching as Luke flips an omelet with impressive skill. “Okay, I’ll bite—how did you get so good at this?”

“Gotta learn some life skills when you live with Jack. Otherwise, you starve." He shoots his brother a pointed look, one that’s half annoyance, half fondness.

Jack scoffs, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest like he’s been wronged. "That’s unfair. I provide entertainment." His voice is teasing, but there’s a clear twinkle in his eye.

Luke snorts, barely stifling a laugh. "Entertainment doesn’t make up for the fact that you once tried to microwave a frozen pizza."

Your head snaps up at that, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "I’m sorry, what?"

Jack groans, cheeks flushing with a rare hint of embarrassment. "It was one time, and the oven took too long!" he mutters defensively, but you can see the red creeping up his neck.

Luke smirks, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he gestures vaguely toward the stove. "You almost burned the apartment down," he points out, no trace of sympathy in his voice.

Jack waves a dismissive hand. "That’s an exaggeration," he says, clearly attempting to downplay the incident, but his voice betrays the tiniest hint of guilt.

Luke shoots you a sly look, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leans in, like he’s about to let you in on a secret. “The microwave was smoking,” he adds, his voice dropping low, the tone almost playful—like he’s about to drop some juicy gossip.

Your jaw drops in disbelief. "Oh my God."

Luke, clearly pleased with the chaos he’s caused, gestures at Jack with the spatula like he’s just won some kind of victory. "See? This is why I learned how to cook."

Jack grins wide, unbothered. "And I get to reap the benefits, so really, we both win," he says with a cheeky shrug, as if his utter lack of skill somehow balances out Luke’s culinary expertise.

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I don’t know how you put up with him."

Luke smirks,"It’s a daily struggle," he says, voice deadpan, but the small curve of his lips gives away the amusement he’s trying to hide.

Jack grins, shaking his head slightly. “Oh, the betrayal. I’m crushed,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though the smirk gives him away.

Luke just rolls his eyes and slides the finished omelet onto a plate before setting it down in front of you.

You look down at it, genuinely impressed by how perfect it looks. Then, you glance back at Luke, a little taken aback. "Not gonna lie… this looks really good."

Luke’s grin widens, his eyes briefly locking with yours, the kind of connection that makes the moment feel charged. "Told you."

You pick up your fork, still a little skeptical, and take a bite. Holy hell.

Your eyes go wide in surprise. "Oh my God. This is actually amazing."

Jack leans in, looking smug...again. "See? I wasn’t lying." He gives you a little wink, clearly basking in the moment like he’s somehow been proven right.

Luke smirks, pleased by the compliment. “I take my breakfast very seriously.”

“Clearly. This might be the best decision I’ve made today.” You shake your head, chewing.

Jack gasps dramatically. “Wow. So staying was a better decision than leaving?”

You pause, realizing what you just admitted.

Jack grins like he’s just scored a win, and for a second, you seriously consider wiping that smug look off his face.

Luke’s smile, however, is filled with pure happiness, as if this moment is exactly what he’s been waiting for.

You sigh, stabbing your omelet. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

Jack beams. “Absolutely not.”

Luke leans closer, his voice suddenly lower, more intimate. “I mean, I’m glad you stayed. It’s not every day I get a pretty girl in my kitchen, making my morning way more interesting.”

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. His words hang in the air, electric.

“Oh, so now I’m ‘pretty,’ huh?” you tease, trying to maintain your composure, though your heart skips a beat.

Luke raises an eyebrow, a slow, confident smile curling on his lips. “Oh, I thought that was obvious.” His gaze flickers down to your lips, his voice dropping even lower. “You’ve been keeping me on my toes since I woke up.”

Your cheeks warm, but you force yourself to look away, focusing on your omelet. “Flattery won’t make me forget about you being 21.”

Luke’s grin widens, and he leans in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough that only you can hear. “Maybe not. But I think it’s a pretty good start.”

Jack, completely oblivious to the flirtation unfolding right under his nose, leans back on the kitchen island with a self-satisfied grin. “God, I can’t believe I’m witnessing this. I thought I was supposed to be the one who charmed the ladies.”

Luke snorts, rolling his eyes at his brother but keeping his focus on you. “Jack’s the type to talk about it. I’m the type to show it.”

Your breath catches in your throat. That was smooth. Really smooth.

You take another bite of your omelet, trying to hide the smile spreading across your face. “You sure you don’t just want me to stay for the food?”

Luke leans back, his gaze softening as he gently takes your left hand in his, his thumb slowly tracing circles over your knuckles. “I mean… if that’s your only reason for sticking around, I won’t complain,” he murmurs, a playful yet tender smile curving his lips. “But I like to think I’ve got more to offer than just my cooking skills.”

His words, along with the warmth in his eyes, wash over you like a wave, pulling you in deeper. You lock eyes with him, your breath catching as your pulse quickens. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you, something that makes it impossible to think straight.

Then Jack clears his throat loudly, and you break the spell, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Alright, alright,” Jack says, clearly enjoying the discomfort he’s just caused. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone so you can finish your breakfast in peace. No need to make me a third wheel.”

You roll your eyes, but Luke doesn’t seem to mind. He just shrugs, unfazed.

“Good idea. Go entertain yourself, Jack.”

Jack winks. “Don’t mind if I do.” He stands up and heads for the door, adding, “You two just make sure to keep it PG—some of us don’t need to see that much chemistry before our coffee kicks in.”

You watch as Jack exits, still grinning like the mischievous brat he is.

As the door clicks behind Jack, the quiet of the kitchen settles in, leaving just you and Luke alone, the lingering tension between you two impossible to ignore. Luke shifts, his hands still resting on your hands as he pulls you gently into his lap. Your heart beats a little faster at the sudden closeness, but you refuse to let the thrill of it distract you from the conversation you know needs to happen.

You take a deep breath, looking up into his eyes—eyes that are soft but hold that familiar spark of mischief, the kind that makes it hard to think straight. He tilts his head slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he runs his thumb over your hand, tracing slow circles. The warmth of his touch makes your breath hitch, but you bite your lip, determined to have this talk.

“Luke,” you start, your voice softer than you intended, “We need to talk about last night. About... us.”

Luke's expression changes, the playful gleam fading into something more intense. He doesn’t pull away, though. Instead, he tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and his voice drops an octave. “I thought we were past talking. I thought we were just... enjoying each other.”

His words make your pulse quicken, but you hold firm. You need to address this.

“I’m serious,” you say, your voice steady, though your chest betrays you with its nervous flutter. “I need to know where this is going, Luke. You’re 21, I’m 27. That’s a six-year difference. I’ve been through more in my life. I want a family soon. I want stability. Not... something fleeting.”

Luke’s gaze darkens, and his thumb continues its slow, soothing motion over your skin, but there’s a new intensity in his eyes. He’s quiet for a moment, absorbing your words. The air feels thick with unspoken thoughts, the weight of what you’ve just said hanging between you.

“You think I don’t want the same things?” he asks, his voice steady but with a sharp edge, not defensive—more... thoughtful. “I’m not some kid just looking for a fling. I’ve thought this through. I’m looking for something real. I’ve spent too much time in meaningless situations to want that anymore. I went to our date because I was looking for something serious. And my friend told me you’d be looking for the same thing.”

He lets your words settle, his eyes never leaving yours. “After spending the night talking with you, I felt like I wasn’t just talking to someone who’s interesting—I felt like I was talking to someone who gets it. Someone who’s looking for the same kind of connection. I’m not here for something that’ll fizzle out in a few weeks. I’m here because... I think you might be the person I’ve been waiting for.”

His words hit you in a way you weren’t prepared for. You’re caught off guard, unsure how to respond, but something stirs inside you. Something warm, something you didn’t expect. You can feel the truth of what he’s saying in your chest, and for the first time, you start to question the assumptions you’d made.

“Yeah, but you’re still figuring things out,” you say, your voice shaky now, a trace of worry creeping in. “You’re just starting out in life. Maybe you don’t want the same kind of commitment I do. I need someone who’s already ready to settle down.”

Luke doesn’t hesitate. His fingers slide up to your jaw, his touch firm but tender, like he’s grounding you to the moment. His gaze holds yours, no longer playful, but filled with something deeper. Something real.

“I’m ready for that,” he murmurs, his voice soft but full of conviction. “I know what I want. And I want you. If you’re worried about my age, let me show you I’m more than just a number.”

His words are almost a whisper, but there’s a quiet confidence in them that sends a thrill through you. His lips are so close now, you can feel his breath on your skin as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m not asking for a lifetime yet, but I’m asking for the chance to prove myself. To prove that I’m capable of giving you the kind of future you want.”

You close your eyes, your breath catching in your throat. He’s not backing down, and the sincerity in his words leaves you no room to doubt him. But still, you can’t help but voice the doubts that swirl in your mind.

“I don’t want to get hurt, Luke,” you whisper, finally letting yourself admit the fear you’ve been pushing down. “I’ve been through enough heartache. And if you don’t want the same things I do, if you’re not ready for it... I don’t know if I can take that risk.”

Luke leans in just a little more, his lips brushing against your cheek before he pulls back slightly, his hands cradling your face. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of his skin, the steadiness of his gaze. “I’m ready for you. Ready for everything that comes with it,” he says, his voice resolute. “I wouldn’t be here, sitting with you like this, if I wasn’t.”

You search his eyes for any sign of hesitation, but there’s none. What you see instead is determination—an unspoken promise that, for all his age, he knows what he wants and is willing to fight for it.

The air between you two shifts, the quiet between you no longer heavy with doubt, but filled with something new. Something that makes your pulse race.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Then show me.”

At that, his lips crash against yours, the kiss deep and slow, filled with all the unspoken things you’ve both been dancing around. His hands slide to your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. Your hands find their way to his curls, tugging him in as if you can’t get close enough. The world around you fades away—there’s only the feeling of his mouth against yours, the pressure of his body against yours, the shared certainty that whatever this is, it’s more than just physical.

When you finally pull away, both breathless, Luke grins, his forehead resting against yours.

Luke leans back a little bit, his eyes gleaming with that mischievous glint as he watches you, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know," he says casually, his voice thick with satisfaction, "I have to admit... I’ve never had a night quite like that. You really know how to use that beautiful mouth of yours."

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? What do you mean?"

Luke shifts a little closer, his grin widening. "Well, I’ve had my fair share of nights, but... last night? You...You were next level. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to be that blown away."

You feel your cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and flattery. "Really? Well, I kinda feel the same. I’ve never... finished two times in one night."

Luke’s eyes narrow in surprise. "What?! Baby, that wasn’t even that much. I think we can go for four or five next time." He winks, his tone playful, but there's a hint of challenge in his voice.

You laugh, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck. "Is that so? You really think you can keep up?"

Luke smirks, leaning in just a little closer, his voice low and confident. "Oh, I’m definitely up for the challenge. You just wait."

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming on your lips. "Maybe this whole 'young boyfriend' thing isn’t such a bad idea after all... Good stamina and all that."

Luke grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Told ya!" He leans in, planting a series of quick, soft kisses across your face and neck, each one sending a delightful shiver through your skin. You can't help but laugh at his actions, brushing your nose against his cheek as your giggles mix with his gentle kisses.

Just as you're starting to recover from his playful assault, a voice slices through the moment like an ice-cold splash of water.

"Can you drop the sex talk, guys?" Jack's voice rings out from the kitchen doorway, dripping with disgust but clearly amused by the whole situation. "I didn’t need to know this much about my little brother."

You freeze, eyes wide, before you turn to Luke, who looks utterly unfazed, that smug, victorious grin plastered across his face. It’s as if he’s just won some kind of prize, and he's wearing it like a badge of honor.

Embarrassment creeps up your neck, but before you can even process the awkwardness, you find yourself laughing. The tension dissolves in the shared amusement of the moment. Luke just shrugs casually, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Relax, Jack. It’s called maturity," you reply with a wink, and Luke chuckles, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

Jack groans dramatically, rolling his eyes. "You two are gross. And seriously, for the future, we need some rules. These walls are way too thin. I do not need to hear you two in action. Thank God I wasn’t home yesterday."

You let out a horrified gasp, hiding your face in Luke’s neck. "Jesus, Jack," you mumble, half laughing, half mortified.

Luke just keeps laughing, clearly entertained by the situation. "You heard nothing. Just a couple of adults figuring things out," he teases.

Jack mutters something under his breath before calling out with a playful, exaggerated gag. "God, I need to vomit. You two are so disgusting."

"Guess this means you're sticking around, huh?" Luke whispers against your mouth, his voice low and warm, sending another wave of heat through you.

You nod, content, leaning into him with a soft smile. "Guess so," you murmur, brushing your lips against his in return.

Jack, clearly fed up with the display, huffs dramatically and walks away with an exaggerated sigh. "You two are the worst."

As he exits, you look up at Luke, feeling that warmth in your chest—the comfort, the excitement, all mixed together. You can get used to mornings like this, even if it means dealing with Jack’s teasing. Or, you think with a smirk, maybe you’ll just strangle him in his sleep. Problem solved.

Luke catches the glint in your eye and chuckles, clearly knowing exactly what you’re thinking.

“Careful,” he says with a playful smirk, “I’d hate to lose my new favourite person just because you can’t handle my brother.”

You laugh, pulling him in for one last kiss.

Part 2

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trashforbarzal · 2 months ago

Text

meant just for you // part two

author's note: thanks for all the love you showed part one! here's part two (and the final part, though i'll probably write some follow up fics about this couple later).

summary: you have a history of dating around and hooking up. after seeing your teammates start to settle down, you and mat make a bet to see who can fall in love first.

pairing: mat barzal x pwhl!reader

warnings: mentions of sex (though no actual smut because i can't write that to save my life), cursing, toxic boyfriends

guy three: peter (cont'd)

when you woke up early the next morning, it wasn’t because you wanted to, it was obligation to your team that had you getting on the road by eight to get back to your apartment in jersey. and maybe the time you got home coincided with peter’s work schedule, but if he asked, it wasn't intentional.

you didn't like lying, and you for sure didn't like that you were so comfortable doing it to him, but after the way he'd talked to you last night, part of you felt like he deserved it. besides, you were about to go on a roadie, you could afford to go a few more days without seeing him.

“i don't know that it should be like that,” your mom commented over facetime while you packed. “don't you want to date someone you wanna be around all the time?”

you scoffed. “don't you get tired of dad?”

“sometimes, but that doesn't mean i want to go days without seeing him.”

“even when he messes up?”

“i might go an hour with the silent treatment, but we usually try to talk about things that upset us before going to bed.” she pauses, then says, “are you sure peter is the one you want to be with?”

you blinked and took a second from throwing clothes into a suitcase to look at her. “what’re you saying? of course he is. he’s the right person, college was just the wrong time—”

“or maybe he was the wrong person then and is the wrong person now,” she said with a conviction you'd seldom ever heard from anyone.

you wrote your mom off after hanging up the phone, but the entire flight to ottawa, it was all you could think about.

wrong person then, wrong person now.

“what’s wrong, twitch?” jess nudged you. “you look lost.”

you blinked before looking at her. “i think i might break up with peter,” you said.

“oh?”

“my mom made a comment this morning, about how maybe he was the wrong person then and also the wrong person now but—”

“your mom is right.”

you blinked again. “...what?”

jess shrugged like what she said wasn’t the equivalent to a record scratch in your brain. “he didn't seem to be your type.” when you said nothing, she continued. “he didn't care about what you care about. god, it seemed like he was waiting for you to give up hockey.”

your stomach twisted at the thought.

jess laid her head on your shoulder and squeezed your knee. “i just want what’s best for you, and i think the best is just around the corner.”

the roadie was long, with you winning as many as you lost. and you couldn't blame anyone but yourself for it. your mind was divided, jess’s words as well as your mom’s ringing in your head, until one night, you were laying in bed, staring at the ceiling while jess was asleep in the other bed.

you glanced at the time and winced when it said 1:40am.

but still you found yourself hitting mat’s contact.

“hello?” there was a loud bass sound on the other end, but he picked up after two rings.

you glanced at jess before walking outside in the hallway. “hey,” you said.

“what’s up? you okay?” it was music in the background, you figured out. probably some top 40 hit you hadn't heard because no one listens to the radio anymore.

you hummed and got on the elevator to head down to the lobby. “i’m fine.”

“then why're you calling me when you should be asleep? don’t you have a game tomorrow?”

“i think i’m gonna break up with peter.” you blurted out.

mat choked, the loud bass noises got quieter, like he'd walked into a hallway or outside. “you're what? what brought this on?”

“my mom and jess talked to me about it.” you sat in a chair in the lobby, your leg bouncing. “made me think that maybe peter is the wrong guy every time.”

“twitch i—”

“mat? are you coming back in? is everything okay?” grace. you would know her voice anywhere, it felt like.

“yeah i’ll be there in a sec, grace.” he cleared his throat. “listen twitch, i gotta go. let me know how that conversation goes, and good luck at your game. you're gonna do great.”

“no, yeah,” you said. “thanks mat, have fun.”

when he hung up, you continued to sit in that lobby, watching as couples stumbled in from the cold, giggling, drunk, and holding hands. you tried to remember a time where you'd been that happy holding peter’s hand, or when you'd ever been that giggly around him.

you couldn't think of a single instance.

you laughed when you were with him because you were funny. you smiled because you were having so much fun on the dates you planned.

as you made your way back up to your room, you took notice of the hollow sensation in your chest, the idea that it had all been for nothing, that you'd opened yourself up to more heartbreak in hopes that peter would be the one to make you fall in love.

you were in a canadian hotel hundreds of miles from home and mat was in a long island bar with grace.

and you weren't sure why it was that thought alone that kept you up all night.

when you finally made it back to new jersey, you wasted no time in going home and sending a text to peter.

you: we need to talk.

it didn't matter that it was nearly midnight. it didn't matter at all to you, because the truth was, while you were still young, you weren't going to waste any more time on a guy who was waiting for you to be someone you weren't.

you rehearsed a speech after morning skate the next day, trying to get your words right. yet when he came over with daisies in hand, the words fell out of your mouth.

“hey babe—”

“i want to break up.”

peter reeled back, the flowers he was holding out still in his hands, waiting for you to accept them. but the truth was:

you hated daisies.

“what?” he asked.

“i can't keep doing this anymore. i thought maybe this was our second chance, but maybe there shouldn't have been one at all.”

peter tossed the flowers on your coffee table and reached for you. “baby, you don't know what you're talking about. we work so well together.”

you took a step back. “do we? because you hardly come to my games, you don't even seem interested in them.”

he scoffed. “this again? i told you i’m busy—”

“doing what? happy hours with your douchebag friends from your douchebag job?” you ran your hand down your face. “god, we don't even care about each other’s passions!”

“passion? getting pieces of rubber flung at you is a passion?” he laughed. “that’s a hobby, you could be making so much more doing literally anything else.”

“it’s not about the money! i love hockey—”

“oh grow up! you’ll play hockey for what? another five years? and then what? you'll have to do what the rest of us do and find a real job.”

you stepped back again, his words striking a chord that hurt more than you anticipated. “we’re done,” you said, hoping your voice sounded stronger than you felt. “get out, and take those fuckass flowers with you.”

“baby—”

“no! stop! you don't get it and i’m done waiting around for you to understand hockey is it for me. i’m not gonna ‘grow up’ the way you think i need to. so just leave and find someone else willing to be what you want.”

peter gaped at you before he spun on his heel and slammed your front door shut.

the pictures on the wall rattled, but your hands and heart were steady.

guy four: ....?

there was no telling what his name was, you couldn't remember it to save your life. but his tongue was down your throat and his hands were wandering.

maybe this is what you were meant for, hookups and casual makeouts with random bartenders on their breaks.

you were halfway to second base when jess cleared her throat, snapping the two of you out of your heavy petting session.

“the manager sent me to tell you it’s time to get back to the bar,” she said, eyes at the guy you were making out with.

he nodded and, in a flash, had disappeared among the crowd.

“are you okay?” she asked, taking the place against the wall the bartender had occupied.

“yeah, why wouldn't i be?”

jess fixed you with a look that had you shrinking just a little. she knew that you knew why she was concerned. since the break up, you'd been on a bender of sorts, hooking up left and right. which, wasn't bad, but it seemed counterintuitive to falling in love.

“maybe it’s time we go home. do you need a ride?”

you shook your head, you'd only had one drink an hour ago. it wasn't liquor that made you make out with a stranger. “i think i’m gonna go to my parents’ place. i’ll see you tomorrow for practice?”

jess didn't look convinced.

“i’ll be okay, my parents’ house is like the safest place i could be.”

she nodded and hugged you tight to her chest. “i love you, twitch. text me when you get there.”

you hugged her back just as tightly. “i will.”

the drive itself was only an hour, could've been shorter if you were more reckless with your car, but seeing as you weren't a millionaire, you played it safe. that, and you didn't want to have to call your dad to come pick you up if you wrecked your car.

you pulled into the driveway, sighing at the familiarity of it all. it took only a matter of minutes for you to unlock the door and head upstairs to your childhood bedroom. you pulled out clothes you'd never taken to jersey and crawled into bed, letting the sleep take over.

when you made your way down the stairs the next morning, it was to the smell of chocolate chip pancakes and bacon.

“i knew i heard you come in last night, squirt,” your dad said before taking a sip of his coffee. “how was the game?”

you plopped down in your seat as your mom handed you a plate of pancakes and bacon. “i broke up with peter a few days ago.”

your parents, to their credit, didn't choke or show any sign that they were shocked. your dad took another sip of coffee and your mom took her seat at the table.

“how're you feeling?” your mom asked.

you shrugged. “i feel like i should be more upset that it’s over.”

“but?”

you sighed and cut a piece of pancake with your fork and shoved the piece in your mouth. “but i’m not. i guess i’m just disappointed that i wasted more time.”

“it’s not wasted,” your dad said. “did you learn something new about him or yourself?”

after a moment, you nodded, feeling like you were back in high school again.

“then it wasn’t wasted.”

“i thought it would be him. i stupidly thought the right guy would be in front of me the whole time like the movies. was it childish? sure, but i thought maybe it would be my turn.”

the whole conversation felt too intense for breakfast, but your parents weren't showing any signs of backing off.

“maybe the right guy still is,” your mom said. “we all suck at looking for things when we think we’re running out of time.”

your dad chuckled. “i can’t tell you how many times we found the lucky socks on top of the pile of laundry in the corner of your room after you said you lost them.” he reached across the table and squeezed your hand in his. “you have time to figure it out, squirt. why rush?”

why rush, indeed.

the next few days passed by in a monotonous montage. your social life was suffering and you hadn't heard from mat since the roadie when you called him. part of you was ashamed for bothering him when he was out with grace, but another part was overwhelmed with the idea that maybe your friendship was over.

he'd probably fallen in love first, he probably won the bet.

and for some reason, the thought made your stomach sink.

he was probably holding hands with grace and kissing her after games and bringing her favorite flowers because he took time to know that stuff. he probably opened doors for her and made her walk on the inside of sidewalk. he was probably on the road to falling in love with grace because she was perfect.

meanwhile, there you were, thinking peter was your ticket to a happily ever after like you'd dreamt of when you first watched sleeping beauty as a child. but he was just a guy, a guy who couldn't remember your coffee order or work schedule, a guy who expected you to be at his beck and call when he needed you, a guy who wanted you as arm candy while he waited for you to get a clue and grow up.

a guy you'd wasted time on for reasons unknown to you.

maybe it was loneliness, or a desperate need to be chosen by someone other than your parents, to be someone’s first priority, you weren't sure. it could've been any or all of those things.e all you knew now was you spent too much of your youth on him, you weren't spending anymore thinking about him.

you were laying in a vegetative state on your couch, watching reruns of temptation island when your phone vibrated next to you.

mat: hey! long time no see. are you busy tonight?

you blinked, but your fingers were moving faster before your brain could fully process what was happening.

you: nope! not at all

mat: cool. wanna come to the game tonight?

you blinked.

you: really?

mat: yeah. haven't seen you in a minute. i'd like to see you tonight. maybe catch up after the game?

you: sure!

you drove the hour to your parents’ place who were out of town for spring break. you parked in their driveway and started walking to ubs like you'd always done, this time alone.

mat texted you earlier to let you know that grace would have the passes to the locker room, to just follow her lead.

she was all soft smiles when you met up with her, greeting you kindly. her eyes looked over your shoulder, furrowing when she didn't see something, you guessed.

“where’s peter?” she asked. “was he busy tonight?”

“oh,” you laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “we broke up. so i don’t know where he is...”

grace’s smile faltered. “oh,” she said.

interpreting her fading smile as sympathy, you shrugged to diffuse the tension. “yeah but it’s fine, we weren't a good fit anyway. he didn't understand how important hockey is to me.” you sighed and looked around at the fans walking inside. “how're you and mat doing?”

you meant the question to be conversational, but when grace’s face twisted up, you realized you may have overstepped, though you couldn't figure out why.

“things are...fine,” she said. “we should go sit down.”

you followed her lead to the seats, recognizing a few of the kids and wives mat had talked about before. however, you didn't wave, knowing good and well they probably had no idea who you were. nonetheless, the kids were cute.

over the course of the game, you tried to talk to grace as much as possible. you asked about her work (she works for a nonprofit helping disenfranchised students graduate high school) and complimented her outfit, yet she still seemed distant. there was a look in her eye that didn't quite match the energy you were giving her.

it didn't make much sense either when you followed her down to the locker room. she was quiet then too, which was odd, considering the isles won. thankfully, there wasn't much time to dwell on it because a brown haired woman came over and introduced herself.

“i’m holly,” she said. “i know grace, but i haven't met you yet.” and had anyone else said it, you might have felt insecure or out of place, but holly said it with such inviting warmth that you told her your name.

“but most people just call me twitch,” you admitted.

almost immediately she smirked with a knowing look in her eye. you weren't sure the cause. what could she possibly know just from a nickname?

“it’s nice to finally put a name with a face,” she said. in certain lighting, it looked like she wanted to say more until she realized grace was still there.

mat came out all smiles a beat later, his eyes widening slightly when he saw you talking to holly. he walked over and greeted grace first, kissing her sweetly, if you had to describe it (even if the thought made your stomach turn).

mat hugged you next, squeezing you tightly, before moving on to hug holly.

“so,” he smiled. “what’d you think?”

“it was fun,” grace said quietly.

mat’s eyes landed on you, something you only knew because you were already staring at him. “you need to shoot the puck more. you’re playing hockey, not ping pong,” you stated. “assists are good, but so are goals.”

he rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “a ‘good job, mat’ would've sufficed, you know.”

you laughed to yourself. “maybe, but your ego is big enough as it is.” then, a realization that grace was standing there, you cleared your throat. “besides, i’ll leave it to grace to inflate your ego. as your friend, i’m here to keep you humble.”

you glanced at grace who sent you a grateful smile.

mat wrapped his arm around his girlfriend’s waist and nodded at holly as she excused herself. his attention was drawn to the locker rooms as more of his teammates exited. your eyes were drawn to a tall man just now leaving. he glanced in your direction, waved at mat, and walked towards the parking garage.

you blinked once. twice. and turned to mat. “i need you to set me up with him.”

mat choked. “what?”

“duclair, your teammate, i need you to set me up with him.”

mat blinked, then clenched his jaw and shook his head. “no.”

taken aback, you asked, “why? do you think it’d be a bad idea? is he a douchebag?”

“no.”

“then why?”

mat sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “do you need a ride to your parents’ house?”

“nope!” you popped the p. “i’m gonna walk back.”

mat immediately shook his head. “not happening. i’ll give you a ride.”

“it’s really not that big of a deal, i’m sure you and grace want to go out somewhere and celebrate—”

grace cut in. “let us get you home,” she said. “it’s not safe to be walking alone this late at night.”

you acquiesced and followed mat and grace to his car. the ride was quiet, silent except for the soft notes of a justin bieber song playing in the background. from your seat in the back, you saw mat reach to grab grace’s hand and watched in confusion as she moved out of his reach. your stomach twisted when you saw the frown on his face, so you looked away quickly to get rid of the sensation.

mat pulled up to your parents’ house and parked in the driveway.

“thanks,” you said quietly. “for the game and driving me home.” you turned your focus to grace, who was staring out of the passenger window. “it was nice seeing you, grace.”

she managed to turn over her shoulder and give you a slight smile. “you too.”

“let me walk you to the door,” mat said. you tried to protest, but he was already halfway out of the car before you could say anything.

“i’ll see you later,” you said to grace before hopping out of the car into the cold air. mat walked by your side to the front door and waited for you to pull your keys out before he said anything.

“thank you for coming tonight,” he said. “it was nice, seeing you there, after weeks of not seeing you.”

you smiled because you just couldn't help it, not when he looked so sincere. “anytime, mat.”

he reached for you, pulling you into another tight hug. “i’ll text you?” he asked.

“let me know when you get home.”

he nodded and pulled away. “i will.”

guy five: anthony

with the isles clinching a spot in the playoffs, you weren't fully expecting mat to text you any time soon. you'd kept up with his games enough to know he was playing well. and part of you felt smug that maybe he'd taken your words at his last game to heart.

you: congrats on clinching!

you started cleaning your apartment before you left to go to elmont. with the pwhl international break in full force, you were planning on taking advantage of your parents’ groceries and living situation. maybe you'd convince your parents to take off work and spend time with you, maybe you'd drive out to the hamptons or maybe see your cousin in connecticut, but you weren't going to skip town without cleaning first.

you’d just vacuumed the living room rug when your phone rang.

mat’s name appeared on your home screen.

“hello?” you answered.

“hey! you busy tonight?”

“just headed up to see my parents. it’s the first week of the international break, so i figured i’d go spend some time with them.”

“when are you leaving?”

“as soon as i finish packing.”

“would you wanna come over when you get into town?”

“s-sure, is grace gonna be there? i don't wanna overstep—”

“we broke up.”

you nearly dropped the phone. “w-what?”

his sigh echoed through the receiver. “yeah...it’s a long story. i’ll text you my address.”

clothes were being thrown into a duffel bag. you had no idea if they even matched, you just knew you needed to get out of jersey as soon as possible.

“i’m leaving! i’ll be in town in about an hour?”

truthfully, the drive was the longest drive you'd ever taken. sure, you'd shaved off two minutes from your maniacal driving, but it wasn't fast enough. you wanted to know what happened, why they broke up—

why your heart was leaping in your chest at the revelation.

you arrived at mat’s place, a house in the suburbs, a house much nicer than the one you grew up in, which made sense considering the salary difference.

mat was leaned up against the doorframe of his front door as you pulled into the driveway. you were hopping out of the car as soon as you threw it in park.

“turn your car off, doofus!” he called with a hand framing his mouth.

heat rushed to your face as you reached back into the car to cut off the ignition. “whoops,” you said.

mat came down the stairs of his porch and grabbed your duffel bag from your hands. your eyes must've widened because he nudged you. “relax, you're not moving in, but i don't think it’s smart for you to leave your stuff in the car.”

you rolled your eyes. “this is the bougiest neighborhood around, mat.”

“and? where’s your wallet?”

your eyes widened as you went back to your car, digging around in your center console before pulling out a bundle of cards wrapped together with a hair tie. “here!” you held it up like it was a trophy, something to be proud of.

mat blinked. “you can't be serious.”

“what do you mean?”

he gestured to your hand. “you’re joking right? that’s not a wallet.”

“it’s fine! it works for me!” you waved it around before mat snatched it out of the air and started towards his front door. “hey come back with that!”

“you're not carrying your important information out in the open and tied together with a hair tie, that’s ridiculous.”

you followed him inside and watched as he placed your duffel bag on the ground in the entryway. you continued to follow him into the common area and towards a table with drawers.

“here,” he said, handing you a worn leather wallet out of one of the aforementioned drawers. “take this.”

“i can't take this,” you replied.

“sure you can, i’m not using it, so take it.”

you scrunched your nose up. “but it’s ugly.”

mat ran a hand down his face and sighed. “cards tied together with a hair tie is ugly. now take the damn wallet.”

you crossed your arms and refused to move. “no. i don’t want an ugly wallet.”

“it’s pure leather.”

“and it’s ugly.”

mat looked at you, with something akin to fondness and maybe a little of something else you couldn't place. and when he smiled the bright smile no one had been able to replicate, you took the wallet.

you studied the worn brown leather. maybe it was the lack of eye contact that gave you the courage to ask the question on the tip of your tongue since that morning. “why'd you and grace break up?”

mat cleared his throat. “want something to drink? i’m a little parched.” without saying another word, he walked towards what you assumed was his kitchen.

you followed, because of course you did. you watched as his t-shirt stretched over his back muscles and shoulders as he filled a cup with iced water. “are you gonna answer the question?”

he sighed and turned around, taking a sip of water in the process. “it just wasn't working.”

“but you seemed so happy!”

he shrugged. “she wasn't.” you waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

“are you okay?”

“i’m fine. wanna go sit?” he gestured towards the lush couches in the living room.

“are you gonna answer any of my questions directly?” you asked, following him and plopping on the couch only after he did it first.

mat sighed. “i don't know, i feel like i was so close to having what my teammates have.”

you nodded along, pulling your feet up onto the ottoman. “i get that. sometimes i think there's something fundamentally wrong with me, that's why no one stays.” mat froze next to you, even as you let out a bitter laugh. “i mean, i broke things off with all of the other guys but maybe i’m just not built for this—”

“there's nothing wrong with you,” he said with a certainty you wished you possessed.

you blinked. “huh?”

“there’s nothing wrong with you.” mat looked at his feet, propped up next to your own. “even if a genie gave me a wish, i wouldn't change a single thing about you.” there was something so childish about it that stuck with you, but not childish in a bad way, childish in the innocent sense. he said it with the same conviction as a little kid who still believed in santa claus. you couldn't help it, you looked at him, waiting for his eyes to meet your own. when he did, he gave you a small smile, before it evolved into a smirk. “even if you can't peel your oranges.”

you rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder. “asshole. at least i can stay on my feet on the ice.”

mat made an indignant noise. “that’s not fair! you hardly ever skate as fast as i do.”

you continued on like you didn't hear him. “all i know is the only times i end up on my ass during a game is because someone knocks into me.”

mat ignored your comment and reached for the remote by your feet. he pushed your feet off the ottoman and laughed when you yelped.

“you’re such a dick! i was comfortable!”

“that's what you get for being mean.” he tossed you the remote and hopped off the couch, heading back to the kitchen. “what’ve you been watching lately?” he asked from the other room.

“temptation island mostly!” you called back. “it’s trashy but—”

mat hopped over the back of the couch and landed next to you. “god i love temptation island.” he handed you a freshly peeled orange. “want one?”

there was no telling how long you'd stayed at mat’s place, or how many episodes that equated to. hell, it wasn't until mat woke you up that you'd realized you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder.

“hey,” he nudged you gently. “it’s like 9pm and all you've had since you got here was an orange. do you wanna order in?”

you inhaled and rubbed at your eyes, not realizing that the sun had set long ago. last you remembered it wasn't even six o’clock. granted, you didn't even remember falling asleep either, so who could really trust your memory?

you motioned to your phone which had made its way to the ottoman, though you couldn't remember ever placing it there...

mat grabbed it for you and winced when he saw the missed calls from your parents.

a slew of texts accompanied the missed calls, most asking where you were, if you were safe, if something had happened. one text from your dad said he was close to calling the cops, (a joke if you'd ever heard one, your dad didn't trust cops).

“i should probably get home before they send out a search party...” you were too busy messing with your phone to pull up your mom’s contact to notice the way mat’s face dropped.

“what're you doing tomorrow?” he asked, the words falling out of his mouth.

you stopped texting your mom to look at the way he waited for your answer, the way he seemed to hang onto the next words to leave your mouth. “i don't think i have anything going on...”

“come to my game?”

and when he looked at you like that, how could you say no?

the drive back to your parents’ house wasn't by any means long, but there was a longing in your heart you didn't recognize, like an invisible string was attached to mat’s house and the farther you got from him, the more unsettled you became.

you just didn't know why.

“where were you?” your dad asked the second you unlocked the front door.

“mat’s,” you said simply, missing the way your parents’ eyes widened while you locked the door behind you. however, you turned around just in time to see the smirks adorning their lips.

“oh?” your mom said, an odd tone in her voice. “and how is he doing?”

“he’s fine. i’m going to his game tomorrow.”

your mom’s eyebrows rose. “against the devils?”

“yep.”

“that's an intense game to go to,” your dad commented. “do you have anything to wear?”

you blinked and moved towards the kitchen. “what? is this an interrogation? i’m probably just gonna wear a sweatshirt and jeans, dad. it’s a game.”

your dad threw his hands up and did his best to look innocent. “just asking a question, squirt. how’s he feeling about their chances tomorrow?”

you shrugged yet again and opened the fridge. “we didn't talk about hockey.” your eyes searched the shelves in hopes of something that wouldn't require anything more than 90 seconds in the microwave. all you saw was lunchmeat and a giant ass block of cheese.

guess you'd have cereal for dinner.

“well, you were over there for a long time, what did you talk about, if not hockey?” your mom asked.

you turned around and scrutinized your parents, both of whom were on the literal edge of their seats. for once, your dad wasn't reclined in his chair with a newspaper and his readers on. his elbows were braced on his knees. and your mom wasn't working on sudoku like she usually did.

they both stared at you in a way you couldn't remember seeing before. “what're you two getting at? we just talked. mat and grace broke up and so we talked about that. and then we watched temptation island because mat hadn't seen the newest season.”

you cleared your throat when neither parent had anything to add. “and if that’s all, i’m gonna go shower.”

“tomorrow, tell mat we said hi!” your mom called up the stairs.

because you were a good daughter, you, in fact, called mat when you got to the arena the next day to relay your mother’s message.

“tell her i said hi back,” he laughed into the phone. it was rich and deep and flooded your stomach with a weird sensation you hadn't felt before. “speaking of, did she send the shirt with you?”

you adjusted the gift bag in your arms. your mother gave you strict instructions not to peek, so despite the fact that you wanted to, you respected her orders for once.

“i’ve got it in a gift bag, but i don’t think i’ll be able to take it in.”

“you didn't drive, did you?”

“mat, you've been to my parents’ house. you know i walk.”

a shuffling sound was heard on the other end. “hold on a sec, i’ll meet you outside.”

“you don't have to—”

“i’m not risking you taking a peek at the shirt. just give me five minutes to send an intern or someone to meet you.”

“you don't trust me?”

“not at all,” he said without an ounce of hesitation. “not with this.”

you huffed, but conceded. again, it was only the respect you had for your mother that kept you from looking at the shirt she made for mat. there was only one thing that could be on it. there was no doubt it was a baby picture of you, the real question was though, which embarrassing photo did mat pick?

before you could even go down that rabbit hole, a young woman was rushing out and meeting you by the entrance.

“hi,” she said, slightly out of breath. “you had something for mr. barzal?”

you almost laughed at the formality of his name, but you managed to hold it back. “yes,” you said and held out the gift bag to her. “i think my mom put some brownies in there for him, but i wasn’t allowed to peek so i can’t say one way or the other.”

she nodded but looked at you like you were speaking another language. “anything else i should tell him?” she asked.

you shook your head. “nope. that’s all.”

in a flash, she was gone again, leaving you standing by the entrance of ubs, waiting for the doors to open. there was a small part of you that regretted walking simply because it meant you had nowhere to go until the game started, but then you remembered the expensive ass parking and walking sounded like a better option.

at least it hadn't rained.

when the doors opened, you were one of many people heading straight towards your seats. you didn't make enough money to justify spending money on stadium food, but you were most definitely treating yourself to a soft pretzel anyway. so what if it was a little early, you were hungry and there was nothing like a soft pretzel while waiting for a hockey game to start.

by the time you made it to your seat, most of the wags were already there. mat warned you ahead of time where your seat would be, and it didn't seem like that big of an issue at the time. but standing among them now seemed a little daunting.

until you saw holly.

“hey!” she smiled, one arm holding her daughter on her hip, the other hand holding her son’s. “mat told me you were coming!”

you blinked. “he did?”

holly nodded. “it’s good to see you again. you picked a good game to come to.”

“it’s not quite the battle of new york, but i’m happy to be here either way.” with a quick glance around the arena, it was clear that seats were filling fast. it would be packed in no time.

you were glad you got your soft pretzel when you did. you took a bite as holly led you to your seat which was conveniently next to hers. you put a reminder in your phone to thank mat whenever you saw him next.

seeing him next happened sooner than you expected because as soon as he came out onto the ice, after doing a few laps, he skated in your general direction.

there was no legitimate reason why your stomach should've flipped when he bent down and waved at holly’s kids, or why your knees got a little weak when he threw a puck over the glass for a stranger.

he stopped in front of you this time, and smiled so big you swore you could see his molars. that, you'd decided in that very moment, was your favorite smile of his. some people, you thought, looked crazy or insane when they cackled like mat did, but it wasn't like that with him. the way mat laughed, smiled, snarked, and smirked made your insides do somersaults.

you'd never felt like this with any of your other friends. maybe it was a feeling reserved for friendship with guys instead?

mat knocked on the glass in front of you and smiled before he skated back to finish his warm ups.

your cheeks felt warm whenever the two of you made eye contact, and you couldn't figure out why. you especially didn't know why holly kept looking at you out of the corner of her eye and then proceed to smile lightly.

it didn't make sense. but you didn't dwell on it either.

the game started shortly thereafter and it was electrifying. the crowd was screaming, yelling, banging on the glass. one guy a few rows over called jack hughes a bitch as he was crosschecked into the boards.

what a time to be alive.

you were almost positive you'd be hoarse and your ears would be ringing for the rest of the night.

once mat scored a goal and you shot out of your seat, you were well on your way to not speaking for the rest of the week. you'd have to apologize to your team later. maybe your mom could make a warm cup of tea for you when you got home to help mitigate the consequences of your excitement.

mat scored again two minutes later, crouching down low and yelling while shaking his fists like he always did for a celly.

right before the end of the third, mat scored again. hats rained down from all parts of the arena. mat’s smile was wider than you'd seen it. there were tears forming in your eyes, joy afresh in your bones.

he'd deserved this, was all you could think about.

he'd deserved it all.

you walked with holly down to the locker rooms and spent time chatting with her. though, if you were being honest, you were just buying time until mat came out.

he didn't leave you waiting for long. he walked out, wet hair, suit on, and smiling. his eyes lit up when he saw you with holly.

your legs were moving towards him before you even registered what was happening. your arms wrapped themselves around his neck, breathing in his body wash. “i’m so proud of you,” you mumbled into his shoulder. “this is so exciting.”

he squeezed you back just as tightly. “thank you for being here.”

you pulled back as much as he would allow and smiled. “wouldn't wanna be anywhere else.”

there was no telling how long the two of you stood like that until the eye contact grew intense and had you stepping back.

a hand clapped mat on the shoulder. your eyes followed the lines of his arm until they landed on anthony duclair’s face.

“good game tonight, barzy,” he said before nodding at you and turning on his heel and walking away.

as soon as duclair was out of earshot, you turned to mat. “i want his number.”

mat’s jaw clenched. “no.”

“why not?”

“no.”

“mat, that's not an answer.”

he hitched his bag over his shoulder. “are you coming over?”

while you wanted to press him more, standing outside of the locker room was not the place to do it, so you nodded and let him guide you to the parking lot. he placed a hand ghosting over your lower back.

and if you’d walked slower just to keep his hand on you, who could blame you?

the car ride was quiet except for the music playing softly over the speakers. mat’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel when they weren't too busy white knuckling the leather.

he didn't say anything when he pulled his car into the garage either. you just followed him inside and attempted to wait for him to say something. but when the silence became deafening, you spoke up.

“mat, what’s going on? you haven't said a word since we left the arena, which, might i add, is unusual given how you're a top tier yapper any other time—”

“i don't get it,” he started, cutting your rambling short. “i had a hat trick tonight and you still want to date my teammate. what do i need to do to win you over? to give us a shot?”

you blinked like he was speaking a different language. what the fuck was he talking about? “i don't know what you mean.”

he ran a hand down his face and sighed. “c’mon twitch, you’re smart. you have to know by now.” mat reaches for his game day bag and pulls out the gift bag you gave the intern earlier in the evening. “this,” he said. “this is what i mean.” he tossed the bag to you, which you caught with ease. “open it.”

“mat, this is for you,” you explained slowly. “my mom said you wanted a shirt—”

“look at it,” he said. “i already know what’s on it. i picked out the picture myself.”

you looked at him with his hands on his hips shifting his weight from side to side. even before rivalry games, before his dates with other girls, you'd never seen him this antsy. you'd do anything to keep him from looking like that, so you pulled the shirt out of the bag and let it unravel as the bag fell to your feet.

and unravel it did.

the picture rendered you speechless. when mat was taking photos on his phone all those weeks ago (or was it months? you could barely remember a time when mat wasn’t in your life at that point. time ceased to matter when you were around him.), you assumed it was the photo of you in your amish outfit holding a candlestick next to your aunt’s antique butter churner. but it wasn’t. no, the picture wasn’t anything goofy or humiliating like you were anticipating.

you were six and missing one front tooth. there were two braids resting on your shoulders. you wore a pair of cinderella plastic high heels. but none of those things caught your attention.

it was the adult new york islanders jersey you were wearing that caught your attention. the jersey was your dad’s and came down to your ankles, but that wasn't the reason you were transfixed.

it was claude lapointe’s jersey.

the number 13 on the sleeve felt like a brand.

you scrutinized the image a moment more before looking up at him. “why this photo?”

mat looked at you, his eyes softening just a little. “don't play dumb, twitch. you know why.”

“if this is about the bet, mat—”

“—who cares about the bet? i don’t even remember the bet! i just know that if you’re gonna date a hockey player, i want it to be me.”

any oxygen left in your lungs suddenly disappeared. you couldn't breathe, couldn't think. there was no way this was real.

“...what?” you squeaked out. “mat what’re you..huh?” you took a step back, the shirt dropping to the floor.

he gestured to the shirt. “i don't remember what the bet was about, i don't remember what i’d get if i won. and i don’t care. because all i want is you.” mat took a step towards you and scooped the shirt off the ground. “i’m not giving duclair your number because if you’re gonna date an islander, i want it to be me.”

“me?” you pointed to yourself.

he laughed just enough to crack a smile. “who else?” mat took another step closer, the distance between you two ever shrinking. “i just want to be enough for you, i want to peel every orange, and buy bags of starbursts to look for red ones. i want to carry your goalie bag after your shut outs and when you give up seven points. i want to see you wear my jersey. i want to wear yours. i want...”

his words faded out as a memory took over your brain.

“it’s time for you to start carrying your own goalie bag and peeling your oranges, now.

draft day seemed so long ago when your dad said it. but standing in mat’s living room felt like that same level of euphoria, a high you'd been chasing since being drafted to the sirens.

in college, you would've scoffed at the idea of some guy confessing feelings for you feeling as important as your draft day. but he wasn't just some guy, was he?

he was mat.

and mat had always been different.

“i know you said you don’t hook up with hockey players, but would you consider dating one?” mat asked, still shifting his weight, looking more unsure than you'd ever seen, even when he went against the rangers a few weeks ago.

“you don’t think i’m weird?” you asked.

he smiled. “i think you're the weirdest girl i know. and i love it.” mat cleared his throat and shifted again. “i love you.”

there was no helping the smile lighting up your face as you closed the distance between your bodies. “even if i sleep with socks on?”

mat reached out and hooked his thumbs in your belt loops, pulling you closer until you nearly went cross eyed trying to maintain eye contact. “mhm,” he hummed.

“even if my wallet is a hair tie holding all my cards together?”

“i thought i gave you one—” he cut himself off and shook his head. “yes, even that.”

“what about—”

“twitch, there's nothing you could do to change my mind. i love you, quirks and all.”

you couldn't stop the smile on your face. “you love me.” a statement, no questions.

“i love you,” he said before clearing his throat. “do you—”

you stood on your toes and pressed your lips to his. you'd kissed a number boys in your lifetime, but nothing could compare to mat. not the way his arms circled your waist and brought you closer. not the way his nose bumped into yours, and certainly not the way he moaned into your mouth that sent shivers down your spine.

“i love you, mat.”

and that smile, that grin you loved so much made another appearance. it made your stomach flip like it always did when you realized you were the cause of his happiness.

“wait,” you said. “who wins the bet?”

mat rolled his eyes and pulled you impossibly closer. “who gives a fuck?”

“i do! i want to win.”

mat rolled his eyes but there was no mistaking the smile still on his lips. “you won. i’ll peel your oranges for as long as we’re both alive as long as you're mine.”

and you couldn't stop the grin appearing on your face, the kind of grin that made your eyes scrunch up.

“you've got yourself a deal.”

the last guy: mat

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