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Native Tongue | Nico Hischier

Pairing; Nico Hischier x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Smut, cursing? (can’t remember lol), fluff, established relationship, edited once

Summary; Reader asks Nico to teach her some Swiss German

Word Count; 4.6k

Authors Note: This is so simple and the smut is more rushed than I’d like but I still love this so much. This was my first time writing for Nico and I’d say I did pretty okay? Translations are from Google so hopefully those aren’t too butchered 🙏🏽 Love you guys!! Accepting requests for Nico pls send if you have any 🩵🩵 -Honey

P.S: Scrolling Pinterest to find pics for the title/cover and oh my God is he beautiful. The brown eyes and dimples combo will do it every time I’m actually giggling at work I want him sooooo badly

The soft glow of a bedside lamp cast shadows across Nico's apartment, the warm light complementing the muted tones of his bedroom. Outside, Newark was alive with its usual evening bustle, but inside, time seemed to slow to a gentle rhythm. It was one of those rare off nights during the season. No game, no travel, just time to breathe.

You had been dating Nico Hischier for just over three weeks now. Everything still carried that new relationship electricity: the flutter in your stomach when he texted, the warmth that spread through your chest when he smiled at you across a room, the way his Swiss accent thickened when he was tired or excited.

Tonight was simple. No fancy dinner reservations or planned activities, just you and him, lying on his bed, shoulders touching, talking about anything that crossed your minds. The conversation flowed easily between you, jumping from childhood memories to favorite movies to plans for the upcoming weekend.

His hand was resting in yours, and you traced the lines of his palm with your fingertips, feeling the calluses that told stories of countless hours gripping a hockey stick. These were the hands that had cradled pucks, won face-offs, and occasionally, thrown punches in defense of teammates. Now, they were relaxed in yours, trusting.

"Does this feel good?" you asked, pressing your thumb into the center of his palm in small, circular motions.

He hummed in contentment. "Very. Where did you learn to do this?"

"I had a friend who was a massage therapist. She taught me a few things." You continued working on his hand, moving to his fingers, gently pulling and stretching each one. "Hockey players need hand massages, right? All that stick handling."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "It's not something we talk about, but yes. Hands, wrists... they take a beating."

"Well, consider this a service to the Devils, then. I'm helping maintain their captain."

His smile was visible even in your peripheral vision. "Very thoughtful of you."

You both fell quiet for a moment, comfortable in the silence. The soft whirr of the heating system provided a gentle backdrop to your thoughts. Outside, a car horn honked, distant and unimportant.

"Can I ask you something?" you said finally, your voice soft in the dimly lit room.

"Anything."

"Would you teach me some Swiss German? Just a few phrases?"

Nico turned his head to look at you, his expression curious. "Really? Why?"

You shrugged, still focused on massaging his hand. "I don't know. It's part of who you are. I want to know all parts of you." You paused, suddenly feeling a bit vulnerable. "Plus, I think it sounds beautiful when you speak it."

He was quiet for a moment, and you worried you'd said something wrong. But when you finally looked at him, his eyes were soft with an emotion you couldn't quite name.

"That's... no one has ever asked me that before." He shifted to face you better. "What would you like to learn?"

You grinned, excited. "Start with the basics? Hello, goodbye, thank you?"

Nico nodded, looking thoughtful. "Alright. So, 'hello' is 'grüezi' in Swiss German."

"Grüezi," you repeated, the unfamiliar word clumsy on your tongue.

His smile widened. "Not bad for a first try. Try again, but it's more like... 'GR��E-tzi' with emphasis on the first part."

"Grüezi," you attempted again, trying to mimic his pronunciation.

"Better! Now, 'goodbye' can be 'uf widerluege'."

You laughed. "That's a mouthful. Uf... wider..."

"Widerluege," he finished, his voice patient. "It literally means 'until we see each other again'."

"That's actually beautiful. Uf widerluege," you tried, the words feeling foreign but fascinating on your lips.

"And 'thank you' is 'merci vielmal'."

"That sounds part French!"

Nico nodded. "Swiss German borrows from many languages. We're surrounded by different cultures."

"Merci vielmal," you said, feeling proud when his eyes lit up at your decent pronunciation.

"Perfect! You're a natural."

The praise warmed you. "What else can you teach me?"

Nico thought for a moment. "How about... 'I like you'? That's 'Ich mag dich'."

"Ich mag dich," you repeated, looking directly into his eyes as you said it.

Something shifted in his expression, his eyes darkening slightly. "Very good."

"And how would you say 'I really like you'?" you asked, your voice dropping to just above a whisper.

"Ich mag dich würklich sehr," he replied, his voice equally soft.

You repeated the phrase slowly, "Ich mag dich würklich sehr."

His eyes never left yours as you spoke, and you noticed the way his breathing seemed to have quickened slightly. Feeling emboldened, you placed his hand down and shifted to face him fully.

"What about..." you hesitated, "how would you say 'kiss me'?"

The atmosphere in the room changed, charged with unspoken tension. Nico's eyes dropped to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again.

"Küss mich," he said, his accent thicker than before.

"Küss mich," you whispered.

He didn't move immediately, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as his lips met yours in a soft, questioning kiss.

When he pulled back, his expression was serious, almost lustful. "Say something else," he requested, his voice rougher than before.

"What should I say?"

"Anything," he replied. "Just... in Swiss German."

You cast your mind back to the phrases he'd taught you, feeling a strange power in knowing how much it affected him to hear you speak his native language.

"Grüezi," you said softly, watching his reaction. "Ich mag dich würklich sehr."

His exhale was shaky. "Again," he whispered.

"Küss mich," you repeated, more confidently this time.

He closed the distance between you once more, this kiss deeper, more certain. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you responded eagerly, your own hand coming to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your palm.

When you separated, both of you were breathing harder. The look in his eyes was intense, almost vulnerable in its honesty.

"You have no idea what it does to me," he admitted, his voice low, "hearing you speak my language."

"I think I'm getting an idea," you replied with a small smile. "How do you say 'I want you'?"

His eyes darkened further. "Ich will dich."

"Ich will dich," you repeated, maintaining eye contact.

A soft groan escaped him. "Your pronunciation is terrible," he said, but his tone was affectionate, teasing.

"Then teach me," you challenged, shifting closer to him.

"Say it again," he instructed, his hand now resting on your waist.

"Ich will dich."

"The 'ch' is deeper, from the back of your throat," he explained, his fingers drawing small circles on your hip.

You tried again, inadvertently making the same mistake.

He shook his head, a smile playing at his lips despite the intensity in his eyes. "No, listen to me. Ich."

"Ich," you repeated, still not quite getting it right.

"Here," he said, bringing his hand up to touch your throat gently. "You feel it here when you say it correctly."

You tried again, focusing on the sensation under his fingertips.

"Better," he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Now the whole phrase."

"Ich will dich."

"Perfect," he whispered, and then his lips were on yours again, more urgent this time, his hand sliding from your throat to your hair, fingers tangling in it as he pulled you closer.

You responded in kind, your hand moving up his chest to his shoulder, then to the back of his neck, feeling the short hairs there. The kiss deepened, his tongue seeking entrance, which you granted readily, a small sound of pleasure escaping you.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath. "How do you say 'beautiful'?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Schön," he replied, equally quiet.

"Du bist schön," you attempted, guessing at the structure.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise before crinkling at the corners with his smile. "That's right. You're learning quickly."

"I have a good teacher," you replied, running your fingers lightly through his hair.

He closed his eyes briefly at your touch, then opened them again, his gaze intense. "It's strange," he said softly.

"What is?" you asked, still running your fingers through his hair.

"Hearing someone speak my language... it's like hearing a piece of home." He caught your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. "Especially someone I care about."

The tenderness in his gesture made your heart flutter. "Even if my pronunciation is terrible?"

"Especially then," he laughed softly. "It's... I don't know how to explain it. When you speak English, you're just you. But when you try to speak Swiss German..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "It's like you're reaching for a part of me that not many people here get to see."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "I want to see all parts of you, Nico."

His eyes darkened at that, and he shifted slightly, bringing himself closer to you. "Say it again," he murmured.

"What?"

"Ich will dich," he prompted.

You repeated the phrase, trying your best to match his pronunciation, "Ich will dich."

A small groan escaped him, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deeper, more urgent than before. His hand moved to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek as his tongue sought entrance, which you granted eagerly.

When you broke apart, both breathing heavily, there was an unmistakable hunger in his eyes. "I don't know why it affects me so much," he admitted. "Hearing you speak Swiss German. It just... does something to me."

You smiled, feeling a surge of power at the knowledge. "Then I should probably keep practicing," you said, your tone deliberately innocent even as you shifted closer, eliminating the last bit of space between your bodies.

"Absolutely," he agreed, his hand moving to your waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. "It's important to practice."

"Küss mich," you whispered, remembering the phrase he'd taught you earlier.

He didn't need to be told twice, his lips finding yours again as his hand splayed across your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the heat of his body through your clothes, the solid strength of him as he held you.

"One more phrase," you breathed when you separated for air. "How do you say 'I want you to touch me'?"

His eyes, already dark with desire, seemed to grow even more intense. "Ich will, dass du mich berührst," he replied, his accent thicker than usual.

You tried to repeat it, stumbling over the unfamiliar sounds, and he smiled, the expression somehow both tender and predatory.

"Close enough," he murmured, and then his hand was moving, tracing a path up your side with deliberate slowness.

"And how do you say 'don't stop'?" you asked, your voice catching as his fingers traced patterns on your skin.

"Hör nicht auf," he told you, watching your face intently.

"Hör nicht auf," you repeated, the words turning into a soft gasp as his touch became more purposeful.

His hand slid higher beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your ribs tantalizingly slow. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent shivers down your spine, each touch igniting something deep within you. His eyes remained fixed on yours, gauging your reactions, seeming to find satisfaction in every small catch of your breath.

"Another phrase?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that you could feel through his chest where it pressed against yours.

You nodded, not trusting your voice as his thumb traced lazy circles just below the underwire of your bra.

"How about 'please'?" you managed, your voice slightly unsteady.

His lips quirked into a small smile. "Bitte."

"Bitte," you echoed, the word barely audible.

Something flashed in his eyes. Hunger, affection, and something deeper that made your heart race. "Say it again," he instructed, his hand stilling its movement.

You understood his game immediately. "Bitte," you repeated, more urgently this time.

His smile widened slightly, satisfaction evident in his expression as his hand resumed its exploration, this time venturing higher. His touch was confident but gentle, asking permission without words.

"Yes," you breathed, answering his unspoken question.

And then his mouth was on yours again, hot and demanding, as his hand finally moved to cup your breast over your bra. You arched into his touch, a small moan escaping into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, his kiss deepening as his thumb brushed over the fabric covering your nipple.

Your own hands weren't idle, moving to explore the firm planes of his chest through his t-shirt. You could feel the defined muscles beneath the soft cotton, the result of years of athletic training. Feeling emboldened, you tugged at the hem, silently asking for permission to remove it.

Nico broke the kiss long enough to help you, sitting up slightly and pulling the shirt over his head in one fluid motion before tossing it aside. You took a moment to admire him: the broad shoulders, the lean muscle, the scattered freckles across his skin that you'd never noticed before.

"Schön," you said softly, using one of the few words he'd called you that seemed appropriate.

His expression softened at your use of his language. "That's my line," he replied, reaching to touch your face with gentle fingers. "Du bist wunderschön."

"What does that mean?" you asked, leaning into his touch.

"You are beautiful," he translated, his eyes never leaving yours.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion. You leaned forward to press your lips to his collarbone, then moved higher to the sensitive spot just beneath his ear that you'd discovered during your earlier make-out sessions. He inhaled sharply, his hand moving to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

"Your turn," he murmured, tugging lightly at the bottom of your shirt.

You nodded, allowing him to help you remove it. The cool air of the room raised goosebumps on your newly exposed skin, but they were quickly replaced by warmth as Nico's hands moved to your waist, drawing you closer again.

His kisses became more insistent, trailing from your lips to your jaw, then down your neck. You tilted your head to give him better access, sighing with pleasure as he found a particularly sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.

"How do you say 'more'?" you asked breathlessly.

"Meh," he replied against your skin, the word followed by a gentle nip that made you gasp.

"Meh," you repeated, and felt him smile against your neck before he continued his exploration, his mouth moving lower to the swell of your breasts above your bra.

His hands found the clasp of your bra, but he paused, looking up to meet your eyes. "Is this okay?" he asked, suddenly serious.

You appreciated his care, his constant checking in. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him, his consideration, his respect, his unwillingness to assume.

"Yes," you nodded, adding with a small smile, "Ja."

He unhooked your bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down your arms and setting it aside. There was reverence in his gaze as he looked at you, his hands coming up to cup your breasts with gentle pressure.

"Beautiful," he whispered, this time in English.

You felt a flush spread across your chest and up to your cheeks, but there was no embarrassment in it, only warmth at the naked admiration in his eyes. He lowered his head, replacing one of his hands with his mouth, and you arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

His tongue circled your nipple before taking it between his lips, the gentle suction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your hand moved to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, encouraging him.

"Nico," you breathed, his name a prayer on your lips.

He hummed in response, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation. His free hand wasn't idle, moving to give your other breast equal attention, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak in rhythm with his mouth.

The dual stimulation was intoxicating, but you wanted more. Your hands moved down his back, feeling the shift of muscle beneath warm skin as he moved. You traced the ridge of his spine, then moved lower, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

He lifted his head from your breast, eyes dark with desire as they met yours. "Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough.

You considered using one of the Swiss German phrases he'd taught you, but in this moment, you wanted complete clarity. "I want to feel you," you said simply. "All of you."

His expression grew serious, though the hunger in his eyes didn't diminish. "Are you sure? We don't have to rush anything."

The care in his question made your heart swell. Three weeks wasn't a very long time, but in those weeks, you'd spent nearly every free moment that he had together. You'd talked for hours, shared meals, watched games, exchanged stories about your lives. There had been countless kisses, increasingly heated make-out sessions, but you'd both been content to take things slowly. Until now.

"I'm sure," you nodded, reaching up to touch his face. "I want this. I want you."

He turned his head to press a kiss to your palm, the gesture unexpectedly tender amidst the heat of the moment. "I want you too," he replied, his accent thicker than usual with emotion. "But we go at your pace, okay? You tell me if you want to stop, anytime."

"I will," you promised.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, then leaned down to capture your lips again. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, more deliberate. His hands moved to your waist, then lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans. He looked at you again, a silent question, and you nodded.

With careful movements, he unbuttoned your jeans and helped you shimmy out of them, leaving you in just your underwear. His eyes traveled over your body with appreciation, but there was also something protective in his gaze.

"Your turn," you said, reaching for the drawstring of his sweatpants.

He helped you, pushing them down and kicking them off. Now both of you were down to your underwear, the thin fabrics the only barrier between you. You could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against your thigh, and the knowledge that you affected him so strongly was intoxicating.

His hand moved to your hip, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. "May I?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"Please," you nodded, adding with a small smile, "Bitte."

The corner of his mouth quirked up at your use of Swiss German. Slowly, maintaining eye contact, he slid your underwear down your legs, his touch leaving trails of fire on your skin. Once they were removed, he took a moment just to look at you, his expression a mix of desire and something that looked remarkably like awe.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, shaking his head slightly as if in disbelief. "I don't know what I did to deserve this."

"You're just you," you replied simply, reaching for him. "That's more than enough."

He came willingly into your arms, his body covering yours, the weight of him a delicious pressure. You could feel every inch where your skin touched his, chest to chest, hip to hip, legs tangled together. His hand moved between your bodies, fingers tracing patterns on your stomach, then lower, seeking permission in your eyes before venturing further.

You nodded, your breath catching as his fingers found your core, exploring with gentle curiosity. He watched your face intently, learning what made your breath hitch, what made your back arch, what drew sounds of pleasure from your throat.

"Küss mich," you whispered, remembering the phrase he'd taught you earlier.

His eyes darkened at your use of his language, and he leaned down to comply, his kiss hungry and deep as his fingers continued their skilled movements. You were lost in sensation, the world narrowing to just this, his touch, his taste, the weight of him above you.

When he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes were serious. "Do you want to continue?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint.

"Yes," you nodded without hesitation. "Do you have...?"

"Protection? Yes," he confirmed, reaching toward the nightstand drawer.

You took the opportunity to help him remove his boxers, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of him fully naked. He was beautiful. All lean muscle and smooth skin, his body a testament to years of athletic discipline.

He retrieved a condom from the drawer, and you watched as he rolled it on with practiced movements. Then he was hovering over you again, his weight supported on his forearms on either side of your head, his eyes searching yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked one more time, his voice gentle.

The care in his question made your heart swell. "I'm sure," you nodded, reaching up to touch his face. "Ich will dich," you added, using the phrase he'd taught you earlier.

A groan escaped him at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you deeply as he positioned himself. "Tell me if you need me to stop," he murmured against your lips.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he began to push forward, entering you with carefully slow. The sensation was intense, and you focused on your breathing, on relaxing, on the feeling of him gradually filling you.

When he was fully seated, he paused, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing as uneven as your own. "Okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice despite the strain of holding still.

"More than okay," you assured him, shifting your hips slightly to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. "You can move."

He started slowly, with gentle, measured thrusts that allowed both of you to adjust to the sensation. His eyes never left yours, watching for any sign of discomfort, but all he would find was pleasure building with each movement.

Gradually, as your body relaxed and welcomed him, his pace increased. Your hands moved to his back, feeling the play of muscles as he moved above you, within you. The room filled with the sounds of your combined breathing, occasional moans, and the rustle of sheets.

"Okay?" he asked again, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control.

"Yes," you gasped, arching to meet his thrusts. "Don't stop—Hör nicht auf."

His rhythm faltered momentarily at your use of Swiss German, a groan escaping him. "You're killing me," he muttered, but there was affection in his tone beneath the desire.

He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly stars exploded behind your eyelids as he hit a spot deep within you that sent pleasure coursing through your veins. "There," you breathed, "right there."

Understanding immediately, he maintained the angle, his thrusts becoming more purposeful. One of his hands moved between your bodies, finding the bundle of nerves at your center, circling with just the right pressure.

The dual stimulation was overwhelming, pleasure building rapidly within you. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, every muscle tightening in anticipation.

"Nico," you gasped, feeling the tension coiling tighter.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice strained but reassuring. "Let go. I want to see you."

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his hips and fingers, pushed you over the edge. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body arching against his as you cried out his name. He worked you through it, his movements slowing but not stopping, prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible.

As you came down from your high, you became aware of his still-rigid length inside you, of the tension in his muscles as he held himself in check. You reached up to touch his face, bringing his eyes to meet yours.

"Your turn," you said softly, clenching around him.

A groan tore from his throat, his control visibly slipping. "Are you sure? I can—"

"I want to feel you," you cut him off, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "Let go."

Something in your eyes must have convinced him, because with a shuddering breath, he began to move again, his rhythm more urgent now. You watched his face, fascinated by the play of emotions: pleasure, concentration, and something deeper that made your heart race.

His movements became more erratic, his breathing harsh, and you knew he was close. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down so that your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest.

"Ich will dich," you whispered in his ear, remembering how strongly he'd reacted to you speaking his language earlier.

The effect was immediate. He groaned, deep and guttural, his hips jerking against yours as he found his release. You held him through it, hands stroking his back, murmuring encouragement as he shuddered above you.

For a long moment afterward, neither of you moved, content to stay connected, his weight a pleasant pressure, his breath warm against your neck. Finally, he shifted, carefully separating from you and moving to dispose of the condom in the bathroom.

When he returned, he immediately gathered you back into his arms, pulling the rumpled sheets over both of your cooling bodies. You settled against his chest, listening to the gradually slowing beat of his heart, feeling utterly content.

"Are you okay?" he asked after a while, his voice soft in the dim room.

You nodded against his chest. "More than okay."

His hand moved to stroke your hair, gentle and soothing. "That was..." he seemed to search for the right word.

"Amazing?" you supplied, tilting your head to look at him.

He smiled, the expression soft and genuine. "Amazing," he agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "But I meant what happened between us. It's not just physical for me."

The vulnerability in his admission made your heart swell. "It's not just physical for me either," you assured him, reaching up to touch his face. "I really care about you, Nico."

His eyes softened at your words. "I care about you too," he replied, his accent thicker with emotion. "Very much."

You settled back against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around you. Outside, Newark continued its evening bustle, car horns honking and sirens wailing in the distance. But in here, in the soft glow of Edison bulbs, there was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth and newfound intimacy.

"Teach me one more phrase," you murmured, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.

"What would you like to know?" he asked, his voice rumbling beneath your ear.

You thought for a moment. "How do you say 'stay with me'?"

He was quiet for a beat, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Blieb bi mir."

You repeated it, looking up to meet his eyes as you did. "Blieb bi mir."

His expression was tender as he looked down at you. "As long as you'll have me," he promised, pulling you closer.

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Stay, It's Early - Luke Hughes

Summary: "Tess and Luke fucked!"

content: underage drinking, casual sex/situationship, slight angst, implied smut but no explicit smut, slow burn

wc: 7.2k

notes: new fic!! you guys voted for luke on the poll, so here you go!! either another luke fic or a quinn fic next :) hope you enjoyyyy

Tess Walsh was thirteen the first time she got invited to the Hughes lake house.

She wasn't there by choice, not really. She was tagging along, the only girl, the youngest by a year, the kid sister who got to come because her parents were close with the Hugheses and her brother had just joined the USNTDP. Ben Walsh was sixteen, which was a big deal in her world, and had somehow become inseparable from Jack Hughes, Trevor Zegas, and Cole Caufield seemingly overnight.

Tess wasn't part of the plan. She was an afterthought. But she packed like it mattered. Lip gloss that she only wore on special occasions, denim shorts that she thought made her look older, a stack of books she wouldn't read. The second they pulled into the driveway and she saw him-- Jack, in sandals, sunburnt, grinning with a hockey stick in hand--her stomach did a little flip.

He was the hottest boy she'd ever seen in real life. And for the next seven days, her one goal was to make him fall in love with her.

She tried everything. Sat near him at the bonfire, asked if he needed help when they carried stuff to the boat, even offered him the last popsicle like it was a normal thing that kids did. But Jack never noticed. Not really. He was nice, he was always nice, but he looked at her the same way he looked at the cooler or the bug spray. Something that was just there.

The rest of the boys didn't pay much attention to her either. They were busy, wrestling in the grass, talking shit, jumping off the docks to see who made the best splash. She couldn't keep up. When they played cards, she wasn't invited. When they took out the boat, there "wasn't room."

So she wandered.

And that's when she found Luke.

He was just a year older than her, though at the time it felt like a canyon. He was long-legged and lanky, quiet in a way the other guys weren't. When Jack was loud and electric, Luke moved in a way that made it seem like he didn't want to be noticed.

Tess found him sitting cross-legged on the dock one afternoon, flipping through a book of hockey trivia and eating Goldfish straight from the bag.

She hovered awkwardly nearby until he looked up and said, "You can sit, if you want."

So she did.

They didn't talk much, mostly just tossed crackers at seagulls. But he didn't ignore her. And he didn't treat her like a little kid, either. They played a card game later that night while the rest of the group was watching a movie too loud inside. He taught her how to shuffle right. She beat him once. He said it was luck.

The first summer ended quietly. She went home sunburned and smug, having not won Jack's heart but secretly satisfied that she hadn't spent the entire week alone.

She didn't expect the next summer to be any different.

And it wasn't. It kept going. Every year, the same week. Same lake. Same house.

The boys got older, taller, louder. She did too.

By fifteen, her crush on Jack had died the natural death most delusions suffer, slowly and with minor humiliation. She'd caught him making out with some girl on the boathouse steps and spent the rest of the night pretending to be violently interested in marshmallows. The next morning, she tore out the page in her diary where she'd drawn a heart around his name and never looked back.

But even after the crush dissolved, Tess kept coming.

Because somewhere between year one and year three, this thing, the group, the lake, the ritual, became hers too.

The parents still came, at first. Hers and the Hugheses, piling in groceries and yelling about applying sunscreen. The days were long, the nights were tame. She and Ben would share a bunk room. The boys would sneak snacks upstairs like they were being rebellious.

Then, eventually, it changed.

The parents stopped coming with.

Jack and Quinn bought a house down the road--bigger, cleaner, stocked with liquor and bad decisions. They had real money. Real lives. But every summer, they ended up at the same place.

And so did she.

Luke was always there.

They never texted. Never hung out during the year. But every summer, without fail, Tess would find herself next to him. On the dock, in the kitchen, in a shared silence that neither of them minded.

Sometimes they played cards. Sometimes they went for a swim. Sometimes they just sat together at the firepit while everyone else talked over them.

It was never more than that. They didn't flirt. They didn't get flirty.

But they were comfortable together.

Ben used to tease her about it when they were younger. "Your boyfriend's waiting on the dock again." And she'd roll her eyes like it was the dumbest joke ever told.

Luke never reacted to it.

She figured that meant it didn't matter.

Now, Tess was twenty.

Ben, Jack, Trevor, Quinn, Luke, and Cole were all in the NHL. Different teams, different cities. They posted pictures with new teammates, had lives that moved fast and loud and far from anything Tess wanted to touch. But every summer, no matter where the season ended, they all came back. To the lake. To each other.

And Tess did too. Not because she was explicitly invited, but because it was still just what happened. She showed up with Ben, or sometimes they drove separately. Threw her bag in the same room. Knew which speaker worked the best. No one ever questioned it. She was just there. She belonged.

She was still the only girl most of the time. Still the one who packed extra sunscreen, remembered the bottle opener, kept the cooler from being all beer and no water. She wasn't anyone's girlfriend. She wasn't a guest.

She was just Tess.

And Luke was still Luke.

They still never crossed that invisible line. They didn't hang out outside of the summer. They didn't text or FaceTime late at night. But something had changed. Slightly. Barely noticable.

Tess noticed his eyes more. The way his voice sounded when he was tired. The way her stomach jumped a little when his fingers brushed hers as he passed her a drink.

It was nothing.

It meant... nothing.

~~

The car rumbled as Jack pulled into the driveway, the driveway of the house he and Quinn had purchased once all the NHL cheques started coming in. The place was rough around the edges, pine needles everywhere, beer caps in the grass from last year's party, but it was theirs.

It felt like summer.

Ben unbuckled in the passenger seat and grabbed the keys to open the trunk. "I swear to God, Jack, if you didn't bring enough ice again--"

"Relax, Trevor's got two more bags."

"That's not enough."

Jack glanced back at Tess through the rearview mirror, grinning. "Your brother's still a control freak, by the way."

Tess smirked and pushed her sunglasses up. "And you're still reckless. It's nice to see nothing's changed."

It was going to be like every summer before... right?

~~

The party had started before the sun went down, which meant by the time darkness actually settled over the lake, it was already loud and crowded, spilling out from the back deck into the yard.

Tess stood barefoot on the edge of the porch, a cold can of cider sweating in her hand, watching as more cars pulled into the front like the invite list never actually ended. She didn't even recognize half the people. Some were definitely teammates, a few were girlfriends, and the rest looked like townies that Jack and Trevor had collected during an earlier beer run.

Someone had a speaker with better bass than the one wired into the house. The playlist seemed to be all frat-party classics with basslines she could feel in her chest and choruses being half-screamed. Bodies moved like background noise. Solo cups were everywhere. Someone was trying to light a joint with a tiki torch.

It was chaos.

Tess took a sip, ran a hand through her hair, and leaned against the railing, eyes scanning for Ben. Or maybe Jack. Or maybe--

Luke.

He was by the coolers, bent over to grab another beer, his t-shirt stretched across his back and riding up slightly at the waist. He stood up, turned, and caught her eye. Nothing dramatic. No smile. Just a look, like he'd been waiting for her to look first.

And somehow, she always did.

Later, the pong table came out.

"Alright, let's go," Jack called out, already racking cups with the expert precision of someone who treated drinking games like real competition.

Tess found herself easily pulled in, drink in hand, cheeks warm from the alcohol and the heat and the string lights overhead. Ben was on a team with Cole. Trevor had claimed some girl from town as his partner and was already showing off like it was the national championship.

"Tess," Jack said, nodding toward the open side of the table. "You up?"

Before she could answer, Luke appeared beside her, already sipping his beer.

"I've got her," he said casually.

Something about the way he said it, like he always did, settled right into her stomach.

Tess peered up at him. "Sure you can keep up?"

Luke cocked an eyebrow. "I've carried worse."

"Rude."

"You love it."

She rolled her eyes, stepping up to the table as he moved in beside her. Their hips brushed and he didn't shift away.

They were good together. Annoyingly good. Tess had never played better, sinking cup after cup, fueled by adrenaline, laughter, and Luke's low murmurs next to her every time she lined up a shot.

"Go left," he said once, his hand on the small of her back, his mouth close to her ear.

She did and she sunk the ball, grinning from ear to ear.

And when she jumped up in celebration, he caught her waist, hands warm, fingers sliding just slightly beneath the hem of her tank top as she laughed, breathless, flushed, proud.

She didn't move right away and neither did he.

It didn't feel like a moment then. Just part of the game, part of the night, but something about it stuck.

They won three rounds straight, and talked shit the entire time. Tess couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed that hard with him or noticed how often he looked at her when she wasn't looking.

It got later, the sky got darker and the drinks got stronger.

The backyard thinned out in waves, people disappearing in the dark or stumbling down to the dock, music fading as phones died or got dropped or drowned out. The party didn't stop, not exactly. It just shifted, got sweatier, looser, lit by string lights and adrenaline.

Tess was standing in the kitchen when Luke found her again. She was reaching for a bottle of water she wasn't actually going to drink, her skin warm from beer and body heat, her pulse beating in her throat.

Luke cleaned on the counter behind her. Close. The kind of close you only noticed when you realized you didn't want to step away.

"You good?" he asked, voice low, eyes scanning her face like he already knew her answer.

She nodded. "You?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah."

They stood there for a second. The air thick between them.

It wasn't like she'd planned on it. Wasn't like he asked. It just--

"Come up with me," he said, quietly, evenly. Not a line, just an offer.

Tess looked up at him, heart beating even harder, like her body had decided before her brain could.

She didn't say anything, just followed him up the stairs.

~~

His room was a mess. Not dirty, just scattered. A hoodie on his chair, phone charge falling out of the socket, suitcase only halfway unpacked. It smelled like cologne and lake water and something Tess could only describe as Luke.

He didn't turn the light on.

The door clicked shut behind them, and then there was nothing but breath and movement.

Tess didn't think at all, she just moved. Hands on his shoulders, lips on his mouth, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt like it was something she'd done about a million times before.

He kissed like he'd wanted to for a while. Slow, then not. Deep, then messy. His hands were firm on her waist, sliding under her shirt, and pulling her against him with so much certainty it made her head spin more than the alcohol.

They didn't really speak. Didn't ask questions, didn't hesitate.

Shirt. Shorts. Bra. Gone.

Her back hit the bed and he followed. Their bodies moved like they were drunk on each other, like the last few years of their lives had been leading here and they just hadn't realized.

It wasn't soft or rough. It was just real-- urgent, wrapped in years of proximity and tension filled summers spent pretending there wasn't anything there.

And when it was over, she lay there for a second, heart still racing, chest rising and falling, fingers brushing against his as they both stared at the ceiling.

He didn't say anything and neither did she.

It was just the sound of music still faintly playing through the floorboards and the buzz of knowing that something that couldn't be taken back had just happened.

~~

Tess woke up the sound of the sliding door downstairs opening.

The breeze pushed through the cracked window, cool against her bare shoulder. Outside, waves lapped against the dock, but inside everything felt still.

Except for her heartbeat.

It thudded low and fast as she adjusted to unfamiliar surroundings, blinking against the bright slice of light cutting through the curtains. Her head was killing her. Her body ached. Not in a bad way, not like a hangover, but in a way that felt far too intimate to describe.

It took her a good five seconds to register where she was.

Two more to register why.

The freckled back facing her was the final confirmation

Luke was still asleep, turned away from her, one arm tucked under the pillow, his shoulder rising and falling with each slow breath he took. His hair was a mess. The blanket was only half covering him, slipping low across his waist.

Tess sat up slowly, holding the edge of the sheet to her chest like it would protect her from the fact that her world had just changed.

Shit.

Her clothes were on the floor. Her bra draped over a chair. Her phone was face-down by the nightstand like it had been dropped mid-mistake.

She moved as quietly as she could, heart in her throat as she slipped her shirt back on and stepped into her shorts. Every movement felt too loud. Every second felt like it was going to wake him up.

And of course -- of fucking course-- it did.

Luke stirred, groaning into the pillow, voice rough with sleep.

"Noooo, T," he mumbled, eyes still closed. "Stay... s'early..."

It didn't sound like a request. It sounded like something his half-asleep brain said on instinct, something that didn't register as real.

Tess froze for half a beat. Long enough to feel it hit. Then she grabbed her phone and slipped out the door.

The kitchen was empty when she went down. Someone had started a pot of coffee but abandoned it halfway through. The air still smelled like the night before, beer, smoke, lake water, something sweet and stale. The fridge hummed like it was trying it's hardest to stay cool.

Tess poured herself a glass of water, even though her stomach was too twisted to drink it. She kept her eyes down, focused on the sink, on the tile, on anything except the fact that she had just slept with Luke Hughes.

She didn't know what that made them. What did it make her?

~~

The rest of the house trickled awake slowly, staggered showers, groans, and sunglasses indoors. The usual post-party mess. Jack found his speaker still playing some song on loop and muttered something about brain damage. Trevor walked through the kitchen shirtless and stole a piece of toast from someone else's plate. Cole handed Tess a Tylenol and a banana like it was some sort of peace offering.

Ben looked suspiciously well-rested.

And Luke...

Luke was just quiet.

He came down last, hoodie pulled over his head, hair wet like he'd already showered. He didn't look at her. Not right away. He said hi to Jack. He fist-bumped Cole. He grabbed a coffee and leaned against the counter like it was any other day.

But it wasn't.

And Tess could feel it.

They were both playing it too cool. Both avoiding eye contact. Both pretending the air wasn't charged with something new.

And maybe no one had said anything yet. But that didn't mean they weren't noticing.

They went out on the boat around noon.

Classic lake day, load up the cooler, pile on some sunscreen, and fight over who had to sit in the middle. It was sunny, hot, and the water looked perfect. The guys were loud again, back to normal... at least on the surface.

But not for Tess.

She didn't sit near Luke. She didn't even glance at him when they boarded.

Instead, she wedged herself between Jack and Ben near the front, laughing at something Jack said, playing with the frayed edge of her towel. She wasn't trying to prove anything, But she couldn't help the way she leaned in when Jack cracked another joke. Or how she smiled too hard at her brother, like she wasn't spiralling out of control in her mind.

Luke sat near the back.

Didn't talk much.

He laughed when someone sprayed him with lake water, flipped Trevor off when he made a comment about the way he was holding his beer, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He watched Tess when she wasn't looking, or maybe she was but pretended not to be.

And when she threw her head back and laughed at something Jack said, something stupid and not even that funny, Luke looked away.

Just for a second.

But it was enough.

Enough that Jack and Ben noticed.

They didn't say anything. Not yet.

But Tess caught the way Ben looked between her and Luke when they were climbing off the boat. The way Jack raise an eyebrow when she said she was tired and disappeared inside early.

The energy was off.

Everyone could feel it. But no one had figured out why.

~~

The grill hissed with the sound of burgers cooking on the hot coals. There was a half-eaten watermelon on the table, slices of tomato on paper plates, and a long string of plastic cups with some sort of concoction in them.

The music was chiller now, giving way to lazy conversation and the sound of the bottle opener clinking against the side of the cooler. It felt like tradition. Like what evenings at the lake house were supposed to feel like.

Tess sat on the edge of the picnic table, drinking a seltzer she hadn't even asked for. Luke was close by--too close and somehow not closer enough-- leaning back a deck chair, ankles crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

They hadn't said more than ten words to each other all day. And yet, they kept finding themselves in the same orbit.

She fucking hated it.

She hated that she couldn't stop thinking about his hands, his mouth, the way he'd whispered her name. She hated that she was analyzing nothing-- a quick glance, a sip of his beer, the way he adjusted his sweatshirt.

She hated that he wasn't really looking at her.

"Hey," Quinn called out, lifting the lid on the grill. "Tess, Luke-- can you guys grab the blue cooler from the basement? The heavy one. It's full of drinks, I don't think it should be carried alone."

That would've been fine.

Normally.

Except...

"I got it," Tess stood up quickly.

"No, I'll--" Luke started at the same time.

"I mean, I can just--"

"It's fine, I've got it--"

They froze, mid-step, mid-sentence.

The group went weirdly still. Like the conversation had justed sucked the oxygen out of the air.

Even the grill sizzle felt louder than it should've.

Trevor was halfway through eating a chip and stopped mid-chew.

Cole looked up from his phone.

And Jack just squinted, a slow grin on his face.

"What was that?" he asked, pointing between the two of them.

Tess let out a breath and turned toward the house. "Nothing. I'll go."

"I can help--" Luke offered, still trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked slightly on the word help, and Tess felt it in her spine.

"Seriously, I've got it," she said.

Jack was still watching. "Why're you guys being so weird?"

Tess didn't answer. Neither did Luke.

"Okay, no, what is this?" Jack said, standing up like he needed a better angle. "That was weird, right? That wasn't just me?"

Trevor nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. "It was weird."

"Uncomfortable weird."

"Like sexual tension weird," Trevor added.

Tess stopped walking.

Luke cleared his throat. "That's not--"

"Oh my God," Jack said, eyes wide. "Did you guys fuck or something?"

Tess blinked. "What? No."

Luke shook his head. "Jesus, Jack."

"I'm justy saying!" He held up both hands, backing away like he'd just launched a grenade. "It would explain, like, everything. The boat. The kitchen this morning. The... cooler thing."

"No," Tess said, sharper this time. "We didn't."

Luke echoed a beat later. "Yeah. No."

They didn't look at each other. They didn't need to.

Jack laughed again. "Relax. I was joking. Holy shit. You two are acting like I accused you of a fucking crime."

"Coulda fooled me," Cole muttered, not even trying to be subtle.

Jack kept going, because that's what Jack does. "Can you guys even imagine if Luke and Tess fucked?"

"Jack," Ben warned lowly.

"I'm serious!" he laughed harder. "Like, picture it. Luke and Tess. That'd be wild, right?"

Trevor nodded. "We'd never recover as a group."

"There'd be rules. An NDA. Emergency separation protocols."

Tess clenched her jaw, but didn't say anything. She just turned, walked toward the house, and let the screen door slam behind her without a word.

The floor creaked under her feet as she moved down the hallway, breath caught in her throat. She didn't even care about the cooler. She just didn't want to be out there anymore.

No Jack laughing.

No NDA jokes.

No Luke being awkward.

She sighed, leaning against the bathroom counter, fingers gripping the side so tightly, her knuckles were white.

Outside, the laughter had thinned.

Ben shot Jack a look that could've melted skin.

"Nice going, dipshit."

Jack frowned. "What? It was a joke."

"You're not funny."

"She said they didn't--"

"Yeah, and you don't know how to shut the fuck up."

Jack looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't.

Luke was still standing there, hands in his pockets, silent.

Trevor cleared his throat. "So... when's the food gonna be ready?"

~~

She couldn't sleep.

Her sheets were twisted around her legs, the pillow was too hard, and her tank top was clinging to her back like it was glued there. The room was too hot. Unbearably hot. The kind of heat that made your skin itch, made all your thoughts louder, made everything feel ten times worse.

The small fan in the corner of the room buzzed but was failing miserably. She'd cracked the window open, hoping from some breeze from the lake, but all it brought was humidty and the sound of crickets. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

"You're fine," she mumbled.

That was the lie she kept trying to tell herself.

She was fine. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Except it was far from it.

Her skin felt too tight. Her thoughts were looping, Jack's voice from earlier playing on repeat: "Can you imagine if Luke and Tess fucked?"

And worse: the way everyone laughed. The way Luke wouldn't look at her. The way no one really thought it was true.

Her phone screen lit up when she tapped it. 1:04 AM.

She sighed, tossed it back onto the nightstand, and ran her fingers through her braid that was frizzy and half undone from moving around.

Then she sat up.

She didn't think, just moved.

The hallway was dark and every floorboard that squeaked felt ten times louder than it did during the day. Tess walked slowly, barely breathing. Just past Jack's room, then Ben's, then Quinn's.

She stopped outside Luke's door and knocked twice, softly.

She didn't even know what she was doing. Didn't have a plan, didn't want one either.

And when the door didn't open right away, she told herself it was a sign. A warning that said Go back to bed. Sleep it off. You'll be fine.

She turned slightly, ready to head back to her room. Then it opened.

Luke stood in the doorway. Shirtless, hair pushed back like he'd just rolled over. Eyes sleepy, but alert.

They didn't speak, they didn't have to. He stepped back and she stepped in, the door shutting behind her.

She kissed him like she was angry. Like her mind was spinning and kissing him was the only thing she could do to make it stop.

He kissed her back immediately, not caring why she was there, just happy she was.

Hands found skin. Clothes hit the floor. Tess didn't care that she looked like a mess or that her hair was sticking up in all directions. Luke didn't ask nor did he pause.

This was faster than the first time. Desperate in a way that was scarily close to being emotional, but only if you looked at it for too long. So neither of them did.

His mouth was on her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone. Her fingers scraped down his back, over the ridges of his spine. She pulled him closer, as close as humanly possible.

And when it was over, when their breathing finally slowed, when her body stopped trembling, when his hand fell limp beside her on the bed, Tess didn't let herself stay.

She sat up and found her clothes. Her hair was damp with sweat, her skin too, but she didn't look at him. Just slipped everything back on and stood quietly, her back to him the entire time.

Luke was watching her, she could feel it.

But still neither of them spoke.

She opened the door and stepped into the dark of the hallway like nothing had happened.

Behind her, Luke exhaled a long, slow breath through his nose.

He ran a hand over his face, shifted onto his back, and stared at the ceiling like it held all the answers. Then he rolled over, pulled the sheet over his hip, and let the weight of his exhaustion pull him under.

~~

It was supposed to just be another day on the water.

At least that was the plan: warm sun, cold drinks, bodies stretched out on towels, lake water that cooled you off in a perfect way. One of those golden afternoons that made summer feel endless.

But everything was off.

Tess felt it in her chest the moment she stepped foot on the boat. The sky was clear, the music was low, the beer was cold... but the space between her and luke was still thick with this tension neither of them wanted to discuss.

They stil weren't talking.

She had said "morning" when they crossed paths in the hallway and he'd nodded, but that was it. They hadn't looked at each other since.

Now, out on the water, Tess sat between Jack and Ben at the bow, sunglasses on, jaw tight, pretend the sun was the reason she wasn't talking. Luke was at the other end of the boat, legs stretched out, talking to Trevor about something Tess couldn't hear and probably didn't want to.

He looked completely fine. Relaxed.

Like he hadn't pulled her shirt over her head last night, pressed his mouth to her throat, whispered her name a thousand times over.

She tried not to look at him. She tried really, really hard.

"Alright, let's go," Trevor said, standing up and clapping his hands. "Time to take a swim. It's too fucking hot."

Cole nodded, kicking off his sandals. "Last one in has to take out the trash tonight!"

Jack was already pulling his shirt over his head. "You're the one who left like four empty White Claws in the bottom of the cooler. You're already on trash duty, bro."

Tess didn't move. She wasn't ready to swim, especially with that many eyes on her.

Trevor turned to Luke. "You in or what?"

Luke shrugged, set his drink down, and reached for the hem of his shirt like it was nothing.

And then... chaos.

The moment his shirt came off, the energy shifted.

The guys didn't even attempt to play it cool.

"OH MY GOD," Jack shouted first, loud and dramatic, pointing like he'd just spotted the Loch Ness monster.

Trevor's eyes were wide. "No fucking way."

"Yo--Luke," Cole barked. "What the hell happened to your back?"

Tess froze.

Luke stood there, shirt in his hand, calm as ever, but the red marks were impossible to miss.

Three long, arching scratches carved into the skin between his shoulder blades. One trailing toward his ribs and one that was faintly bruiesd.

They weren't from a fall or a tree branch. They were from her. And everyone knew it. Everyone saw it.

Jack covered his mouth like he was trying not to laugh. "We fucking knew it."

Trevor pointed at Tess. "Knew it! I said it yesterday!"

Cole looked stunned. "Dude. Dude. Luke."

Luke didn't say anything, just smirked.

A slow, cocky half-smile that said "yeah, you're right" without needing a word.

Tess felt the heat crawl up the back of her neck before she could even react.

Her skin was on fire. Her brain short-circuited. Her stomach turned as every guy on the boat looked at her with the same expression--disbelief, amusement, and the worst of all... curiosity.

Jack was grinning like a fucking maniac. "So you're not denying it now?"

Luke just cocked an eyebrow.

"I KNEW IT," Trevor yelled. "That's why they were acting all weird yesterday! And why she wouldn't even look at you at the bbq!"

Cole leaned back against his seat like he was watching a movie. "I feel like we've uncovered something we weren't supposed to see. Like Area 51."

Tess didn't say a word. She couldn't. She stared straight ahead, face bright red, lips pressed together so tightly it hurt. She didn't look at Luke, didn't look at anyone.

If she pretended hard enough, maybe it wasn't happening.

Jack leaned toward Luke like a kid asking about his older brother's crush. "Okay but how did it happen? Was it the pong game? Was it--"

"Jack." Ben's voice cut through, sharp.

Everyone paused.

Ben was staring at the water, jaw tight. Not saying anything else. Just shaking his head slightly like he was trying to physically rattle the thoughts from his skull.

Then finally...

"Ew. That's my fucking sister."

Jack blinked. "Oh. Shit. Right."

Trevor held up his hands. "Yeah. My bad. Respectfully."

Cole nodded. "Respectfully."

Luke scratched the back of his neck, still smirking, still very much not sorry.

Jack elbowed Ben gently. "Hey, at least it's Luke. Coulda been worse."

Ben shot him a look that said say one more word and I'll throw you off this boat.

Jack nodded. "Right, shutting up."

The boat rocked gently in the silence that followed. Luke sat back down. Tess still hadn't moved. The scratches were still there. Undeniable. And so was everything else they weren't talking about.

~~

Trevor and Jack were still out on the dock laughing about god-knows-what and there was music playing in the living room. Tess was standing in the hallway upstairs, a half-finished glass of water in hand, wearing one of Ben's old t-shirts and trying not to replay the events of the day over and over again in her mind.

The scratche. The boat. The guys losing it. Luke's stupid smug face. Her silence.

She'd avoided everyone the second they got back to the shore. Took a long shower and didn't come down for dinner. She let the weight of the last two days press heavy against her chest and she didn't know if it was embarrassment making her sweat or the heat.

She was just about to head to bed when she heard it.

"T."

Ben's voice. She turned and he was cleaning against the wall near her room, arms crossed, hair wet from a shower, socks mismatched like always.

Tess cocked a brow. "What."

He didn't answer right away, just looked at her like he was trying to figure out how to even begin.

"Okay," she said slowly. "You're being weird. Stop."

Ben pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "I'm not mad."

Tess blinked. "Okay... cool?"

"I just need to know," he said lowly. "Is he messing with you?"

That stopped her.

She stared at him, completely stunned.

Then let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Seriously?"

"I mean it, Tess."

"You think someone would only hook up with me if it was a joke?" Her voice cracked slightly, hurt underneath. "God. Your ego is fucking insane."

Ben flinched. Just barely, but it was there.

Tess shook her head. "You really think I'm that easy to mess with? That I don't know what I'm doing?"

"That's not what I said."

"Yeah, but it's what you meant."

Silence. The hallway felt colder or maybe just heavier.

Ben rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling.

"Look," he said. "It's not that I don't think you can handle yourself. I know you can. I do. But I've known Luke since he was like fourteen. And guys, especially hockey guys, don't always think before they do shit. I just..."

He trailed off.

Tess leaned against the wall, the glass in her hand sweating. She hadn't even taken a sip.

"I just don't want you to get your feelings hurt."

Her chest felt tight, because that part was real. That was her brother. Too many pucks to the head, their mom always said. All heart, no filter.

Tess sighed. "I'm not an idiot, Ben."

"I didn't say you were."

"And I'm not in love with him, if that's what you're worried about."

Ben made a face. "Jesus, don't say it like that."

"I'm just saying--"

"Don't say anything," he cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm trying really hard not to picture any of it and you're making it worse."

She cracked a smile, despite herself.

Ben groaned. "I'm literally going to drown myself in the lake."

"Tell Trevor to hold your ankles. He'll do it."

Ben snorted. "He'd charge money for that."

They were quiet for a second. Then softer...

"Are you okay?"

Tess looked at him. Not like the guy who used to throw her in the pool fully clothed or steal her fries or make fun of her for crying during The Notebook.

Just... Ben.

And in spite of everything, the embarrassment, the mess, the aching confusion in her chest, she nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm okay."

Ben looked at her for another beat, like he was checking. Then he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, tight and fast, like he was trying not to make it a thing.

"You better be," he mumbled.

Tess rolled her eyes. "Okay, you can let go now. You're sweating on me."

"Don't act like you're not loving this moment."

"I'll throw you off the boat tomorrow."

"Respectfully?"

"Respectfully."

~~

Tess stood in the hallway, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, staring at the door in front of her. Luke's door. It wasn't the first time she'd stood there, not even the second. But this time felt different.

He still hadn't said anything to her, even after the boat. He hadn't spared her a look at dinner either.

And still, she was standing there.

Not because she wanted sex. Not even because she really wanted him. She just wanted to know. She was so fucking tired of not knowing.

She knocked once and then opened the door.

Luke was sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard, hoodie on with the hood up, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly, but he stopped halfway when the door opened.

He looked up as she entered, no reaction.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey."

She stood there, looking at him for a few seconds before deciding to speak her mind.

"I need to ask you something."

Luke shifted, lowering his phone. "Okay."

Tess walked closer, sat on the edge of the bed, far enough to breathe, but close enough to feel a little uneasy.

She looked down at her hands. "Is this just... being horny?"

He blinked. "What?"

"This," she gestured vaguely between them. "Is it just... being horny? The summer? Being stuck in the same house for too long?"

Luke didn't answer right away.

She went on. "Are we bored? Or lonely? Or is this--"

"Something?" he offered quietly.

Tess nodded. "Yeah. Something."

Luke leaned forward, eyes on the floor.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe it's all of that."

Tess exhaled slowly. "Feels like I should know, but I don't."

"Me neither."

"When did it get weird?"

Luke gave her a small smile. "You mean when it did it just stop being a normal summer?"

"Yeah."

He thought for a second. "I think I always kind of noticed you. But not like... that. Not until last year. Maybe the year before."

"Seriously?"

"You were always just Ben's little sister," he said, almost apologetically. "Then you weren't."

Tess leaned back on her hands. "Jack was my first crush, you know."

Luke snorted. "No shit. You followed him around like a lost dog."

"I was thirteen."

"You were obsessed."

She shoved his knee gently. "Shut up."

Luke's smiled lingered.

"I used to think you were annoying," she said. "Like, irritating little-brother energy."

"Thanks."

"But now..." Tess trailed off. "Now I think I'm screwed."

Luke looked at her. Really looked at her.

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."

She laughed once, quietly, surprised by how tired she felt all of a sudden. Like the weight of pretending had finally taken it's toll on her body.

Luke reached out and gently touched her knee.

It wasn't a move. He wasn't trying to start anything. It was just comforting. And maybe that's what made it different.

She lay back on the bed eventually, not in a rush.

He shifted beside her, pulled off his hoodie, and turned down the lamp until the room went dim and soft. Tess curled into his side, one arm tucked under her head.

"Is this a mistake?" she asked, barely a whisper.

"Probably."

She turned her head, meeting his eyes.

"But you don't want me to leave, do you?"

He didn't answer.

She moved closer and his arm slid under her neck. Her hand settled on his chest and slowly, her breathing evened out.

Sleep came easier than she expected.

Luke stayed awake a little longer. He looked down at her--her face calm, lips parted, lashes dark against her cheeks--and sighed.

Because he was so fucked.

~~

Newark was colder than Tess had expected. It wasn't even winter yet, just late November, but the air bit through her coat as she walked out of the arena. She pulled her scarf tighter, phone buzzing in hand as she walked past waves of Devils fans in black and red merch, all filing out of the building.

The game had been good, fast, full of chirps and shoulder checks. Ben's team had lost by one, but it was close, and no one had dropped the gloves, so it didn't qualify as a complete disaster.

Tess had spent most of the night in the family section, hood up, hat down, trying not to think too hard about who was on the ice. Ben, obiously. But also Luke.

Luke, 43. Luke, who had two assists and chewed so much on his mouth guard Tess thought it was going to fall out onto the ice.

Now, the crowd was thinning. And her phone buzzed again.

Lukey: Meet me by the players' lot. Black BMW SUV. Five minutes

Tess smiled to herself and headed back toward the arena.'

The car door opened as soon as she reached it. Luke was in the driver's seat, damp hair curling at the ends, post-game flush still on his face.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You looked good tonight," she said casually, buckling in.

Luke smirked. "You stalking me now?"

"You sent me your location."

He shrugged. "You found the car. Still counts."

Tess smiled. "Thought you were gone lose your mouth guard tonight. You chew on it like a fucking dog."

"You noticed?"

"Yeah."

Luke laughed, low and tired. "Stalker."

"Whatever."

They didn't go anywhere fancy. Just circled once, went through a drive-thru, and headed to her hotel without really discussing it. By the time they reached the room, Tess had kicked off her boots, dropped her bag, and was already tugging off her scarf while Luke stood in the doorway like he wasn't sure if he could let himself in.

She turned to him.

"You gonna stand there all night or...?"

That was all it took.

Her lips were on his, her hands under his Devils hoodie, his fingers brushing her jaw. Making up for months of not seeing each other in meer seconds.

They made it to the bed eventually, Tess settling into the fluffy hotel pillows. She laughed into his mouth as he tried to say something cocky, but she cut him off with a kiss before he could finish.

"Still think this is just a summer thing?" she whispered, biting gently at his bottom lip.

"Shut up," he mumbled.

After, they didn't rush to get dressed. Didn't rush to separate.

Tess lay on her stomach, the sheet half-draped over her hips, cheek pressed into the pillow. Luke was beside her, tracing slow, lazy shapes on her bare back with his fingertips--circles, lines, a crooked heart.

Her eyes were closed. Not asleep, just still.

"Hey," he murmured.

"Mm?"

"You gonna be here tomorrow?"

She didn't answer right away.

Then, "No, I'm flying home in the morning."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see it.

"Come to bed," she said softly.

He shifted under the covers, pulling her close, one arm slung over her waist. Their legs tangled, her hand finding his out of instinct.

~~

Luke rolled carefully, one arm bracing himself as he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for his shirt on the floor.

Tess blinked awake behind him, hair mussed, eyes still heavy.

She watched him in the morning light, broad back, sleep-creased skin, fading marks from her nails still visible if you knew where to look.

He moved to stand--

"Noooo," she mumbled, voice sleepy. "Lu... stay."

He froze. Turned.

She pulled the blanket higher, one eye barely open. "S'early..."

Luke stared at her, lips parted, heartbeat in his throat.

Because he knew what that was.

His line. From the first morning. The one he hadn't really meant to say.

Tess buried her face in the pillow. "Don't look at me like that."

He smiled, shaking his head.

And laid back down beside her.

[eyesthatroll]

Sunshine | Luke Hughes

Pairing; Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, fluff, overuse of '—' probably (I can't help myself I'm sorry😞), edited once! 

Request; 'can you do one about luke where like they are long distance since he moved to NJ and they finally get to spend the summer together after being apart the whole season’

Word Count; 7.8k

Authors Note: Thanks so much for the request, friend!! This was pretty fun to write, and I hope you like it!!. I won't spoil anything in the author's note, but let's just say this is kind of a self insert, aka something I occasionally fantasize about. Any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated!! Love you guys!! -Honey

The scent of fryer oil clung to your clothes as you pirouetted between tables, delivering plates with a flourish that wasn't part of your usual workday choreography. You caught yourself humming between orders, your smile wide enough to make your cheeks ache by mid-shift. Every time the door chimed, your heart performed a little somersault before settling back when it wasn't him, even though you knew perfectly well Luke wouldn't be walking through the restaurant's doors tonight.

"Earth to crazy girl," Mia teased, bumping your hip with hers as she passed with a tray of drinks. "Table six has been trying to get your attention while you've been daydreaming about hockey boy." 

"I wasn't—" you started to protest, but the knowing smirks from your coworkers silenced you. Marcus, wiping down the counter, made exaggerated kissing noises. 

"Two months," you reminded them, feeling warmth creep up your neck. "You'd be excited too."

"Oh, we know," Mia laughed. "You've only mentioned it every fifteen minutes since you clocked in." 

You'd originally planned to join his parents at the airport, had even begged your manager for the night off, but Friday nights were non-negotiable at Lakeside Grill. The bitter disappointment had faded to resigned acceptance, tempered by the knowledge that in just a few hours, the distance that had stretched between Michigan and New Jersey would finally collapse. 

When you finally shed your name tag and push through the back door into the crisp April air, the clock on your phone reads 11:32 PM. Your fingers trembled slightly as you unlocked your car, the exhaustion from your double shift evaporating at the prospect of seeing Luke. You slid into the driver's seat and immediately called, pressing the phone to your ear as it rang. 

You'd texted him obsessively throughout the day. First when their plane departed Newark, again when they landed in Detroit, and several times after that with increasingly transparent excuses. 

"Hey, you," Luke answered, his voice a warm rumble that made your stomach flip. In the background, you could hear the familiar chaos of his summer home. Dishes clinking, Jack's laugh, what sounded like ESPN playing on the TV. 

"I just finished up work," you said, trying to keep the breathless anticipation from your voice as you navigated out of the parking lot. "I'm on my way over." 

There was a pause, some shuffling on his end. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped a notch lower. "How about you just come over tomorrow. It's late." Your hand froze on the gearshift. A car behind you honked as the exit to the main road remained clear but your vehicle didn't move. 

You waved an apologetic hand and pulled out, trying to process his words. "You don't want to see me?" The question slipped out before you could soften it, vulnerability naked in your voice. The red traffic light ahead bathed your dashboard in crimson, matching the flush of embarrassment warming your face. 

Luke's chuckle filtered through the speakers, but it sounded strained. "Course I do, don't be silly." A pause. "It's been torture, honestly." The light changed to green, its glow illuminating the empty intersection as you accelerated through. 

Something felt off. The Luke who had FaceTimed you just yesterday had been counting down the hours until you'd be together again. "Then why?" You didn't bother hiding the confusion or the hint of hurt that crept into your tone. The late-night streets of your small Michigan town stretched empty before you, streetlights creating pools of yellow that your car passed through rhythmically. 

"It's late, sunshine. I don't want you making the drive over." His voice was gentle but firm, the tone he used when his mind was made up about something. 

Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "It's only half an hour." Even that was generous at this hour, with the freeways clear and most of the town asleep, the drive to the lake house where he spent his summers would be closer to twenty minutes. You'd made the journey so many times you could navigate it half-asleep, following the winding roads until they opened up to the glittering expanse of water and the cape cod style house that his brothers had bought after making it to the NHL. 

The property had quickly become your second home over the past two years. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft rush of air from your car heater and what sounded like Luke moving to another room, the background noise fading. 

He let out a small sigh, that particular sigh you'd come to recognize, the one that signaled the conversation was effectively over. "I'll see you tomorrow, I promise. I'll come and scoop you around eleven?" 

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying the chapped skin there as disappointment settled heavy in your chest. Two months of falling asleep to texts instead of his heartbeat, of watching his games on a screen rather than from the stands, and now another night alone when he was just a short drive away. "Fine," you finally conceded, the word coming out more clipped than intended. You softened your tone, not wanting your reunion to start with tension. "I miss you, that's all." 

"Miss you more," he replied, and despite your disappointment, the familiar phrase made your heart constrict. "See you tomorrow, okay?" 

As you hung up and turned your car toward your apartment instead of the lake, questions swirled beneath your resignation. In two years together, through multiple separations due to his hockey schedule, Luke had never once not wanted to see you immediately when he got home. Something wasn't adding up, but perhaps it was just exhaustion clouding your judgment. Tomorrow would bring clarity, you told yourself, even as a nagging unease settled beside the anticipation that had carried you through your shift.

Sleep came fitfully that night, your dreams a fragmented mix of anticipation and unease. You didn't set an alarm, allowing yourself to sleep however long your body wanted. Once awake, you reached for your phone with eyes still half-closed, only to jolt fully awake at the notification glowing on your screen.

Lukey [8:12 AM]: Good morning, baby. Wear your favorite sundress today. 

You blinked at the message, sleep evaporating as your thumbs moved quickly across the keyboard. 

You [9:34 AM]: Good morning to you too. Why the specific request?

The reply came almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for you to wake up.

Lukey [9:35 AM]: Don't worry about it :)

You [9:35 AM]: What are you up to?

Lukey [9:36 AM]: If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it? See you at 11 ❤️ 

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, you tossed aside your comforter and padded to the bathroom, suddenly grateful for the deep conditioning treatment you'd given your hair last night. The disappointment of not seeing him had translated into a lengthy self-care ritual. Face mask, hair treatment, a leisurely shower, a coincidence that now seemed to be luck. 

Standing before your closet an hour later, freshly showered and made up with more care than your usual weekend routine, your fingers skimmed past hangers until they found the familiar fabric. The pastel yellow sundress had been an impulse purchase last summer, right before a family barbecue, the first one that Luke attended with you.

You still remembered the way Luke's eyes had lingered when you'd first worn it, how he'd whispered "You look like sunshine." when your cousins were out of earshot, thus birthing the familiar term of endearment. The dress flowed around your knees as you twirled once before the mirror, the delicate floral pattern catching the morning light. You paired it with simple sandals and minimal jewelry, just some small dangly earrings and a necklace Luke had given you last Christmas. The familiar weight of the pendant against your collarbone was comforting, a tangible reminder of promises whispered across pillows and state lines. 

At precisely 10:57 AM, a knock sounded at your apartment door. Your heart somersaulted in your chest as you crossed the living room, taking one steadying breath before turning the handle. And there he was. Luke filled the doorframe, taller than you remembered somehow, his broad shoulders blocking out the morning light from the hallway windows. His curly hair was shorter than when you'd last seen him, the fresh cut accentuating the sharp angle of his jaw. But his eyes, those warm green eyes that crinkled at the corners, were exactly as you remembered, now widening slightly as they took you in.

For one suspended moment, neither of you moved. Two months of FaceTime calls and late-night texts crystallized into this single point of reconnection, the air between you charged with everything unsaid. "Hi," you breathed finally, the single syllable barely audible. 

Luke's face broke into that crooked smile that never failed to make your stomach flip. "Hi yourself, sunshine." And then the space between you disappeared as he stepped forward, one arm circling your waist while his other hand cradled the back of your head.

The kiss was gentle at first, a reacquaintance, before deepening into something that spoke of lonely nights and patient waiting. When you finally pulled apart, you noticed the faint circles under his eyes that the phone camera had never quite captured. "You look tired," you murmured, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. 

"Worth it," he said simply, stealing another quick kiss before adding, "I've missed this face." 

You smiled against his lips. "Just my face?" 

His laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating where your bodies pressed together. "Among other things." His gaze dropped to your dress, appreciation evident in his expression. "You look beautiful." 

"Like I'd forget your not-so-subtle favorite," you teased, stepping back to give him a proper view with a small twirl. 

Luke caught your hand mid-spin, interlacing his fingers with yours. "Ready to go? I've got plans for us." 

"Is that why you wouldn't let me come over last night? Secret preparations?" The question was light, but curiosity still nagged. 

A flicker of something, hesitation perhaps, crossed his face before his smile returned. "Something like that. Come on, chariot awaits." 

His Ford Bronco sat in your apartment complex's parking lot, freshly washed by the looks of it. Luke opened the passenger door with an exaggerated bow that made you laugh before sliding into the driver's seat beside you. "So where are we—" 

"Nope," he interrupted, turning the key in the ignition. "No questions. Just trust me?" 

You settled back against the leather seat, watching his profile as he navigated through the Saturday afternoon traffic. The familiar contours of his face, the way he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the radio, the scent of his cologne filling the enclosed space, all of it felt like coming home after a long journey. 

Twenty minutes later, Luke turned onto a familiar tree-lined street, and your heart gave a little leap of recognition as Marigold's distinctive blue awning came into view. "You remembered," you said softly as he parked, eyes fixed on the cozy brunch spot where you'd had your first official date two years ago. 

Luke's expression softened. "Course I did." 

Inside, the hostess led you to a corner table by the window. The same table, you realized with a start, where you'd sat that first morning, nervous and trying not to show it. The restaurant hadn't changed much: still the same exposed brick walls covered in local artwork, still the hanging plants creating pockets of privacy between tables, still the mouthwatering smell of their famous lemon-ricotta pancakes permeating the air.

"I took a chance they'd have an opening," Luke admitted as you settled into your seats. "Called them last week from Jersey."

"You did?" His smile turned sheepish. 

"Yeah." He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "But brunch isn't the only surprise." 

From his jacket pocket, he withdrew a small velvet box, sliding it across the table toward you. Your breath caught in your throat as your fingers hovered over it. "Luke..." 

"It's not a ring," he clarified quickly, a flush creeping up his neck. With trembling fingers, you opened the box to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, its chain fine and shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the window. And there, dangling from the center, was a perfectly crafted silver lily, small but intricately detailed, your favorite flower. "Happy belated anniversary," Luke said softly, watching your face. "I know the flowers I sent weren't much—"

"They were perfect," you interrupted, remembering how the unexpected delivery had brightened your apartment on that otherwise ordinary Tuesday in March, your actual anniversary.

"But I wanted to give you something more permanent," he continued. "Something you could have with you even when I'm not." Tears pricked behind your eyes as you lifted the bracelet from its velvet nest. 

"It's beautiful." Luke took it gently from your hands, motioning for your wrist. 

As he fastened the clasp, his fingers lingered against your pulse point. "I had it custom made at a small shop in Grand Rapids. The jeweler thought I was crazy with how specific I was about the lily." 

You turned your wrist, watching the charm catch the light. "Thank you," you whispered, emotion making your voice thick. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you too," he replied, the simple declaration filling the space between you with everything that two months apart had left unsaid.

The words hung in the air between you, warm and familiar and heavier in person than through a phone screen. A comfortable silence settled as the waitress approached with steaming mugs of coffee, giving you both a moment to collect yourselves. 

"So," Luke said after taking a sip from his mug, "tell me everything I missed. And don't say 'nothing' because I know how that brain of yours works." 

You laughed, stirring cream into your coffee. "Well, Mia at work has been relentless with the teasing. You should have heard her last night when I kept checking my phone between orders."

"I hope you set her straight about how incredibly cool your boyfriend is," he grinned, leaning forward on his elbows. 

"Oh absolutely. I told them all about your exciting life of hotel rooms and ice baths." 

Luke clutches his chest in mock offense. "You wound me. What about the glamorous team plane rides? The thrilling post-game interviews where I say the same five phrases in different orders?"

The laughter that bubbled up from your chest felt like releasing a breath you'd been holding for two months. This, the easy banter, the way his eyes never left your face even as he reached for his water glass, this was what FaceTime couldn't replicate. 

Your orders arrived with impeccable timing: lemon-ricotta pancakes for you (just as you'd had on your first date) and the breakfast skillet loaded with everything for him. Luke immediately cut a piece of his pancake, raised an eyebrow in silent question, and you nodded, opening your mouth to accept the offered bite. "Still as good as you remember?" he asked, watching your reaction intently.

You closed your eyes briefly, savoring the perfect balance of savory and sweet. "Better."

The conversation flowed as naturally as it always had, filling each other in on the details that text messages couldn't capture. The way his new teammate Brett had adopted a stray cat that now terrorized him and his wife, how you started going on morning walks while listening to old funk albums, his ongoing battle with the dry cleaner that keeps giving him the wrong suits. 

As you shared the last bite of pancake, Luke checked his watch with what seemed like exaggerated casualness. "Got somewhere to be?" you teased, dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

"Actually," he said, signaling for the check, "we do have somewhere to be. If you're up for another surprise."

"Another one? You're spoiling me, Hughes." 

His smile turned mischievous. "Day's just gettin' started, sunshine."

Back in the Bronco, Luke turned up the radio, your favorite station already programmed in, and headed toward the highway instead of back toward your apartment or the lake house. "Going to give me a hint?" you asked, watching the familiar landmarks of your town give way to the interstate.

"Not a chance," he replied, reaching over to lace his fingers through yours. "But you might want to grab your sunglasses from the glove compartment. It's supposed to be bright today."

A little over an hour later, your curiosity peaked as Luke guided the Bronco off the highway and followed signs toward Detroit. Your mind raced through possibilities. A museum? A concert? Shopping? Nothing felt quite right for the secretive smile playing at the corners of his mouth. When he finally turned into a massive parking lot and you caught sight of the distinctive entrance sign, your jaw dropped. "The Detroit Zoo?" you exclaimed, straightening in your seat. "Luke, how did you—"

He parked the car, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Know that you've been wanting to come here? Particularly to see the new penguin exhibit that opened while I was gone?" He tapped his temple. "I pay attention."

"But I never mentioned—" You paused, realization dawning. "You stalked my Facebook."

"Maybe," he admits, reaching into the backseat for a small backpack you hadn't noticed before. "You shared it about a month ago, commenting about how you hadn't been to the zoo since you were a kid. I might have done some planning right then and there."

Warmth spread through your chest at the thought of him, tired after practice or a game, scrolling through his feed and filing away this small detail about you. Not just remembering it, but building it into today's reunion. "You never cease to amaze me," you said softly. 

Luke leaned across the center console, brushing his lips against yours. "That's the plan, sunshine. Keep you on your toes for the next sixty years or so." 

The zoo was bustling with weekend visitors, families with strollers and couples walking hand-in-hand beneath the canopy of spring trees. Luke purchased tickets at the entrance booth, waving away your offer to split the cost with a firm "Anniversary, remember?"

"Our anniversary was in March," you reminded him, accepting the map he handed you.

"Which makes this our belated celebration," he countered, pointing to a spot on the map. "Penguins first? Or do you want to wander and find them later?"

You studied the map, noting the penguin habitat was on the far side of the zoo. "Let's save them for later. Build up the anticipation."

The day unfolded like something from a dream, the kind where everything aligns just right. Luke kept his arm around your waist as you wandered from exhibit to exhibit, stopping to watch the tigers lounging in the sun and the otters tumbling playfully in their pool. He listened attentively as you shared random animal facts you'd accumulated over the years, never once making you feel self-conscious about your enthusiasm.

"Did you know giraffes have the same number of vertebrae in their necks as humans do?" you asked as you watched one gracefully bend to drink. "Just seven, but theirs are way longer."

"I did not know that," he said, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Tell me another one." 

By the time you reached the polar bears, the clouds had given way to the bright sun that glinted off the water in their enclosure. Luke guided you to a shaded bench nearby, unzipping the backpack to reveal two bottles of water and a container of sliced fruit. "You thought of everything," you marveled, gratefully accepting the water.

"Mom helped," he admitted, offering you a strawberry. "She packed this this morning while I was picking up your bracelet." You glanced down at your wrist, where the silver lily caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above. 

"So that's why you didn't want me coming over last night." 

A flicker of something, the same hesitation you'd noticed earlier, crossed his face before he nodded. "Had to keep the surprise intact." 

You studied him for a moment, noting the way his eyes didn't quite meet yours. "Luke Warren, are you hiding something else from me?" 

He popped a grape into his mouth, taking his time chewing before answering. "What if I am?"

"Then I'd say you're being very mysterious for someone who usually can't keep a secret to save his life." You bumped your shoulder against his. "Remember when you tried to surprise me for my birthday last year and ended up telling me the plan three days early because you were too excited?" 

Luke laughed, the sound echoing in the open air. "That was different. This is... bigger." 

"Bigger than my birthday?" 

Instead of answering, he stood, offering his hand. "Come on, I think it's time we found those penguins." 

The Polk Penguin Conservation Center was everything the article had promised, a stunning 326,000-gallon aquatic habitat where deep-diving penguins swam with breathtaking speed past the glass viewing areas. You stood transfixed as they rocketed through the water, their bodies sleek bullets of black and white. "They look like they're flying underwater," you mumble, pressing a hand against the cool glass. 

Luke stood behind you, his arms encircling your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. "Worth the wait?" 

"Absolutely," you breathed as a particularly bold penguin swooped close to the glass before darting away in a flurry of bubbles. You could have stayed watching them for hours, but eventually the growing crowd prompted you to move along, making your way through the rest of the habitat. As you emerged back into the sunlight, Luke checked his phone, typing something quickly before pocketing it again. 

"Everything okay?" you asked. 

"Yes," he assured you, taking your hand again. "Just checking in with the parents. Dad wanted to know if we'll be back for dinner." 

"Will we?" 

Luke smiled, the secretive edge returning. "That depends on you, actually. But first, I have one more stop in mind." He led you along the winding paths until you reached the zoo's central garden, a beautiful space with flowering bushes and a small pond where koi fish swam lazily beneath lily pads. A musician was playing guitar on a nearby bench, the gentle melody floating through the air. Luke drops his backpack. "Dance with me?" Luke asked, extending his hand with a formal bow. 

You glanced around at the other zoo visitors, some watching the musician, others passing by on their way to the next exhibit. "Here? Now?" 

"Here. Now." His eyes held yours, unwavering. "Don't leave me hangin'." 

Placing your hand in his, you let him pull you close, his arm wrapping securely around your waist as you began to sway to the gentle rhythm of the guitar. The yellow fabric of your sundress fluttered around your knees, catching the afternoon breeze. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you held each other following the chords. 

"I used to imagine this," he murmured against your hair. "During away games. When I couldn't sleep in hotel rooms. I'd close my eyes and remember how it feels to hold you like this." 

Your throat tightened with emotion. "Me too. Except I'd wear your old Devils hoodie and pretend it still smelled like you." 

Luke pulled back just enough to look at your face, his expression softening. "I'm sorry about last night. I should have just told you to come over. Would have saved us both a lonely night."

"It was worth it for all this," you assured him, gesturing to the beautiful garden around you. "Perfect day." 

"Not quite perfect yet," he said, something shifting in his tone. 

Before you could question him, he stepped back slightly, still holding your hands in his. The musician, you noticed with sudden clarity, had switched to a slower, more deliberate melody that sounded strangely familiar. Luke was lowering himself to one knee on the brick pathway, and the world around you seemed to freeze in place. 

"Luke," you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs. 

"I told you earlier that the bracelet wasn't a ring," he said, voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "But I never said there wasn't a ring." From his pocket, he withdrew a small velvet box, different from the one that had held the bracelet, this one midnight blue instead of black. Around you, other zoo visitors had begun to notice, a small crowd forming at a respectful distance. 

"I had this whole speech planned," Luke continued, looking up at you with those eyes that had captivated you from the very first day. "About how these past two years have been the best of my life. About how even when we're apart, I feel connected to you in ways I can't explain. About how I want to build a life with you that's as beautiful and unexpected as finding you was in the first place." 

He opened the box to reveal a ring that caught the sunlight, sending prisms of light dancing across your dress—a solitaire diamond on a delicate band, simple yet stunning. 

"But standing here now, looking at you in that gorgeous dress with those eyes that see right through me, all I can think to say is this: I love you. More than hockey, more than anything. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you." His voice caught slightly. "I know we're both young, and we don't even live in the same state half the year, but none of that matters to me. When you know, you know. And I've known since that first summer that you're the one I want to build my life with. Will you marry me?" 

Time seemed suspended as you looked down at him: the boy who had become a man before your eyes, who sent you souvenirs from every state he traveled, who beat the Tetris levels you couldn't, who loved you more than you ever thought possible. "Yes," you whispered, then louder, "Yes, Luke. Of course, yes." 

His face broke into that brilliant smile you loved so much as he slid the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. The small crowd that had gathered broke into applause as he stood and pulled you into his arms, lifting you slightly off your feet in his enthusiasm. When he set you down, he pressed his lips against yours eagerly, rushed passion and genuine happiness flittering between mouths before allowing you to examine the ring, now sitting perfectly below the delicate lily bracelet on your wrist. "So this was the plan all along." 

Luke laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. "Quinn and Jack were helping me set up. I had candles and flowers all over the lake house, planning to propose there. But I changed my mind last minute." 

"This was perfect." you said softly. Your lips form a pout, catching his lips delicately, before he pulls away.

"Everyone's waiting at the lake house. My parents, your parents, Quinn, Jack, they're all there for dinner. If you're up for it." 

You smiled, shaking your head in amazement. "You really did think of everything." 

"I had many months to plan," he reminded you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "And now I have a lifetime of loving you to look forward to." 

As you walked hand-in-hand toward the zoo exit, the afternoon sun warm on your shoulders and the weight of the ring still new and thrilling on your finger, you couldn't help but think of how truly blessed you were. "Ready to go tell everyone?" Luke asked as you reached the parking lot, his Bronco waiting like a chariot to carry you to the next chapter. 

"Ready," you confirmed, squeezing his hand as the future unfurled before you, as bright and promising as the yellow dress you wore and the boy who loved you. 

The drive back to the lake house felt surreal. You kept stealing glances at your left hand, where the diamond caught the late afternoon light streaming through the windshield. Luke caught you looking for the third time and smiled, squeezing your knee gently. "Happy?" he asked, eyes flicking between you and the road.

"I keep thinking I'm going to wake up," you admit. "That I'll be back in my apartment, and you'll still be in New Jersey, and this whole perfect day will have been a dream." 

Luke's hand moved from your knee to capture yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. "Not a dream, sunshine. Though I'm pretty sure I've dreamt about this exact moment more times than I can count." 

As the highway gave way to the familiar winding roads that led to the lake, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttered in your stomach. "So everyone already knows? That you were proposing today?" 

"Well, they knew the plan," Luke amended with a hint of mischief in his voice. "But they don't know your answer yet." 

"You weren't sure I'd say yes?" You raised an eyebrow, unable to keep the smile from your face.

Luke's cheeks flushed slightly. "I was... cautiously optimistic." He turned onto the tree-lined private road that led to the property. "But Jack kept teasing me about having a backup plan. As if I could ever have a backup plan for you." 

The familiar house came into view, its large windows reflecting the golden afternoon light off the lake beyond. In the circular driveway sat your parents' familiar sedan, parked alongside another car and what you recognized as Jack's truck. Your heart performed a little somersault at the realization that they had all gathered here, waiting for this moment. Luke parked the Bronco and turned to face you fully. "Ready to get ambushed?" 

"As I'll ever be," you replied, leaning across the console to press a quick kiss to his lips. He caught you before you could pull away, deepening the kiss with a newfound urgency that made your head spin. 

When he finally broke away, his eyes were darker, more intense. "Just wanted one more moment where it's just us," he explained softly. 

Hand in hand, you approached the front door. You smoothed down your sundress with your free hand, suddenly acutely aware of the day's adventures in your slightly windblown hair and sun-kissed cheeks. The door swung open before Luke could even touch the handle, revealing Jack, his smirk eerily similar to Luke's own. 

"Well, well, well," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. "Look what the cat dragged in." His eyes dropped pointedly to where your hands remained intertwined, then to the ring now adorning your finger. His smile widened impossibly further. "Guess baby brother didn't chicken out after all." 

"Shut up, Jack," Luke said good-naturedly, shouldering past him into the house. The familiar scent of something pasta, rich with garlic and herbs, made your stomach growl despite the late brunch. 

"They're here!" Jack called out, unnecessarily loud given the fact that everyone was already gathered. 

There was a flurry of movement as people emerged from the kitchen and living room area. Your mother appeared first, her eyes immediately finding yours with a question in them that was answered by your beaming smile. Behind her came your father, trying and failing to look casual despite the slight redness around his eyes that suggested he might have been more emotional about this day than he was letting on. Ellen appeared next, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her face lighting up as she took in the scene. Quinn followed, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other, clearly in the middle of recording the moment. 

"Well?" Ellen prompted, looking between you and Luke with barely contained excitement. "Do we have news to celebrate?" 

Luke turned to you, his eyes soft with an unspoken invitation for you to share. The weight of everyone's gaze felt momentarily overwhelming until you lifted your left hand, the ring catching the light streaming through the windows. "We're engaged," you announced, your voice strong despite the emotion making your heart race. 

The room erupted in cheers. Your mother was the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight embrace that smelled of her familiar perfume. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart," she whispered against your hair, her voice thick with emotion. Over her shoulder, you caught sight of your father shaking Luke's hand before pulling him into a quick, firm hug. The sight of the two most important men in your life embracing sent a fresh wave of emotion through you. 

"Let me see, let me see!" Ellen exclaimed, gently extracting you from your mother's arms to examine the ring. "Oh, Luke, you did good. It's absolutely perfect." 

"Just like her," Luke said, the simple statement causing a fresh round of happy tears to spring to your eyes. Quinn approached next, phone now pocketed as he wrapped you in a bear hug that lifted you slightly off your feet. 

"Welcome to the family, officially," he said, setting you down with a grin. "Though we've considered you a Hughes since Luke first brought you home with those puppy dog eyes two years ago." 

"I did not have puppy dog eyes," Luke protested, though his expression as he watched you being welcomed by his family suggested otherwise. 

Jack slung an arm around Luke's shoulders. "You still have puppy dog eyes" He turned to you with a wink, teasing. "Life with no chance of parole for you, eh?" 

"Jack," Ellen chided, though her smile remained firmly in place. 

Your father cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. He was not typically a man of many words, preferring to express himself through actions rather than speeches. But now he raised the glass of what appeared to be whiskey that Jim had just handed him. "To Luke and his impeccable taste," he began, his voice gruff with emotion. "And to my daughter, who has never looked happier than she does right now. May this be just the beginning of a lifetime of joy for you both." 

"Hear, hear," Jim echoed around the room as glasses were clinked together. Luke found his way back to your side, his arm sliding naturally around your waist as if it belonged there. Which, you supposed, it did. 

"Dinner's almost ready," Ellen announced. "The boys have been grilling all afternoon, and I've got about six side dishes that need final touches." She turned to you with a warm smile. "But first, I think these two need a moment to breathe. Why don't you two get some air?"

Luke shot his mother a grateful look before guiding you toward the back of the house. As you slipped out the sliding glass doors onto the expansive deck, you heard the animated chatter resume behind you—your mother already deep in conversation with Ellen, no doubt discussing wedding details you hadn't even begun to consider.

The late afternoon sun hung low over the lake, casting long golden reflections across the rippling surface. The wooden dock extended from the grassy backyard into the water, bobbing gently with the mild waves. It was your favorite spot at the lake house, where you and Luke had spent countless hours talking, swimming, or simply sitting in comfortable silence.

"You okay?" Luke asked as you reached the end of the dock, both of you slipping off your shoes to dangle your feet in the cool water. "I know it's a lot all at once."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, watching a pair of ducks paddle by in the distance. "I'm really good," you assured him. "Just processing that this is real. That you're really here, and we're really engaged, and our families are inside already planning our wedding probably."

Luke chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where you were pressed against him. "Mom's had a Pinterest board for at least a year. I caught her looking at it over Christmas."

"You're kidding."

"Dead serious. Quinn ratted her out." He kissed the top of your head. "But we don't have to decide anything right away. We can take our time, do this however we want."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. The two of you sat on there, on the end of the dock, your head resting on his shoulder, for a few minutes, watching the sun setting along the water.

Soon enough, the sliding door opened, and Jack's voice carried across the yard. "Lovebirds! Mom says dinner's ready, and Dad's threatening to start without you!"

Luke stood first, offering you a hand up that you gladly accepted. Before you could head back toward the house, he tugged you gently into his arms, one hand cupping your cheek with impossible tenderness.

"Thank you," he murmured, his eyes searching yours.

"For saying yes?" you teased lightly.

He shook his head, expression serious despite the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "For making every homecoming feel like this. Like no matter where hockey takes me, I have something infinitely more valuable to come back to."

Your heart swelled as you rose onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. "Always," you promised.

The word hung between you, as golden and full of promise as the sunset beginning to paint the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink. It was a promise neither of you made lightly, to be each other's constant in a world of variables, to be home for each other no matter the distance.

Hand in hand, you walked back toward the house where your families waited, the yellow sundress swishing around your knees and the evening breeze carrying the scent of grilled steak and the subtle promise of summer. The weight of the ring on your finger still felt new and thrilling, but the feeling that bloomed in your chest as Luke held the door open for you, that feeling was as familiar and essential as breathing.

Inside, the dining table had been set with Ellen's best dishes, bottles of champagne chilling in ice buckets at either end. As you took your seat beside Luke, surrounded by the people who had shaped both of your lives, the conversation and laughter flowing as naturally as the lake waters outside, you couldn't help but think that for all of Luke's careful planning and perfect surprises today, this moment of belonging, outside of his proposal, was the next best gift.

Jim raised his glass once everyone was seated, his expression uncharacteristically emotional. "To the future Mr. and Mrs. Hughes," he toasted, his voice steady despite the moisture gathering in his eyes. "May your love story continue to be written with the same beauty with which it began."

As glasses clinked and smiles were exchanged across the table, Luke's hand found yours beneath the tablecloth, his thumb brushing over the ring he'd placed there just hours ago, an unspoken reminder that this was just the beginning.

"I love you," Luke whispered for your ears alone.

You squeezed his hand in response, knowing that whatever the future held, whatever cities hockey might take him to, whatever challenges might arise, the foundation you'd built together over the past two years was strong enough to weather any storm.

"Love you, too," you echoed softly.

Dinner stretched languidly into the evening, multiple courses interspersed with stories and laughter that left your cheeks aching. Your father, usually reserved, had warmed up after his second glass of wine, regaling everyone with embarrassing childhood stories that made you hide your face in Luke's shoulder. Luke's arm had remained draped across the back of your chair, his fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder in a gesture so casually intimate it made your heart flutter even after two years together.

"Remember when she insisted on wearing her tutu to soccer practice?" your mother chimed in, eyes twinkling with mischief. "The coach didn't know what to do with her."

"In my defense," you protested, "I was five, and I thought tutus were appropriate for all athletic activities."

"Not much has changed," Luke teased, earning himself a playful jab to the ribs. "What? You still have strong opinions about athletic wear."

"Says the man who refuses to wear anything but black compression shorts under his gear for 'luck,'" Quinn interjected, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

The conversation flowed easily between hockey stories, childhood memories, and tentative wedding ideas that Ellen couldn't help but slip into the conversation. Jim had opened a second bottle of champagne somewhere between dessert and coffee, insisting that such an occasion warranted proper celebration.

As the clock on the mantel chimed ten, your father stifled a yawn. "I hate to be the one to break up the party," he said apologetically, "but some of us don't have the stamina of you young folks anymore. Early meeting tomorrow."

"Yeah," your mother agreed, though her reluctance was evident in her voice. "It's a bit of a drive back."

Ellen nodded, beginning to gather some of the dessert plates. "We're gonna get going too, actually."

"You're leaving?" Luke asked, surprise evident in his voice as he looked between his parents.

Jim exchanged a knowing glance with Ellen before clearing his throat. "Thought we'd give you two some privacy to celebrate properly."

"We're out too," Quinn nods, already standing and shooting Luke a barely concealed wink. 

"That's right," Jack added, his expression all innocence despite the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Wouldn't want to be a third and fourth wheel on your engagement night."

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized what they were doing, orchestrating an obvious exit to leave you and Luke alone in the lake house. Luke's arm tightened around your shoulders, his own face slightly flushed.

"You don't have to—" you began, but Ellen waved away your protest.

"Nonsense, sweetheart. You two deserve some time alone after being apart for so long. Besides," she added with a gentle smile, "It seems only right that you should have it to yourselves tonight."

The next fifteen minutes were a flurry of hugs, promises to call tomorrow, and last-minute wedding suggestions that you nodded along to without fully processing. Your mother hugged you especially tight at the door.

"I always knew he was the one," she whispered against your ear. "From the first time you brought him home. The way he looked at you, like you were everything."

Emotion tightened your throat as you squeezed her back. "I love you, Mom."

"Love you too, sweetheart." She pulled back, dabbing at the corner of her eye. "Enjoy your night, we'll talk details soon."

You and Luke stood on the porch, waving as both families piled into their respective cars. Quinn shot Luke a thumbs up from the passenger seat of Jack's truck, and Jack made a gesture that Luke quickly responded to with an obscene hand signal of his own, hidden from the parents' view.

"Brothers," Luke muttered, despite the smile playing on his lips

With final waves, both cars pulled away down the private road, headlights sweeping across the front of the house before disappearing around the bend. You stood in the doorway watching until the red taillights vanished around the bend, Luke's arm secure around your waist.

"Alone at last," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I think that's the fastest I've ever seen my family clear out of here."

You laughed, leaning into his embrace. "They weren't exactly subtle about it."

"Subtlety isn't really a Hughes family trait," he admitted with a grin, leading you back inside and closing the door behind you. "But I can't say I'm complaining."

The house felt different now. Quieter, more intimate, the spaces that had been filled with laughter and conversation now containing only the two of you. The dining room table still held the remnants of your celebration dinner, champagne glasses with lipstick marks and cake crumbs telling the story of the evening's festivities.

"Should we clean up?" you asked, though the thought of mundane chores seemed at odds with the electric anticipation humming beneath your skin.

Luke shook his head, taking your hand. "Tomorrow. I have something to show you first."

Curiosity piqued, you allowed him to lead you through the familiar path up the wooden staircase. When you reached the door to his bedroom at the end of the hall, he paused, turning to face you with an expression that mingled nervousness and excitement.

"Close your eyes," he instructed softly.

You did as he asked, heart fluttering with anticipation. You heard the door creak open, felt Luke's hands gentle on your shoulders as he guided you forward into the room. The subtle scent of roses reached you before he spoke again.

"Okay. You can look now."

When you opened your eyes, a soft gasp escaped your lips. The room was transformed from the familiar space you remembered. Dozens of candles in various sizes were arranged across every surface, unlit but ready to cast their warm glow. Rose petals in deep crimson created a path from the doorway to the bed, where they were scattered across the navy comforter in a striking contrast. The curtains had been drawn back to reveal the panoramic view of the moonlit lake, silver light dancing across the gentle waves.

"Luke," you breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. "When did you—"

"I had help," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "Jack and Quinn set this up while we were at the Zoo. It was supposed to be part of my original proposal plan, but...ya know." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "I still wanted the night to be special."

You crossed to him, rising on tiptoes to cup his face in your hands. "It's perfect," you whispered, emotion making your voice catch. "All of it."

With careful movements, he pulled away, and reached for the bedside table, retrieving a lighter to begin illuminating the candles. One by one, small flames sprang to life around the room, casting everything in a warm, golden glow that made the rose petals seem to shimmer. When the last candle was lit, Luke dimmed the overhead light, leaving only the dancing flames and moonlight to illuminate the space.

"There," he said, turning back to you with such tenderness in his eyes it made your breath catch. "Now it's perfect."

You moved toward him, drawn like a magnet to his warmth, his solidity, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the fresh rose petals and lake air drifting through the partially open window.

"I missed you." you whispered, reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble. "Two months is too long."

Luke caught your hand, turning it to press a kiss to your palm. "I'll quit the NHL," he murmured against your skin, "just wanna be with you."

"Oh wow," Your eyes widened with amusement. "I think Devils fans would kill me."

"We can go off the grid." A teasing smile on his lips as he drew you closer. "Survive off of my ELC money."

Your fingers traced the neckline of his shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric as you threw your head back with a laugh. "Whatever would we do with all that time alone?" you asked, your voice deliberately innocent despite the heat building between you.

Luke's eyes darkened as his hands slid from your waist to your hips, drawing you impossibly closer. "I have a few ideas," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low register that always made your stomach flip. "Starting with properly celebrating our engagement."

You can find the 18+ extended cut of this fic, (5k+ words of smut), on my Patreon, or via the direct link: HERE

[eyesthatroll]

Could you make a Quinn X Reader, where the reader is deaf and communicates by sign language? How would Quinn be about it?

Hello, lovely. I tried my best writing this. Please do note that I am not deaf or hard-of-hearing. I unfortunately don’t know any sign languages, even the one in my country. [I tried learning but it didn’t stick. I lack people to converse with it]. Simply, I hope this doesn’t offend anyone. If people do, I can take this down… 😔

Spoken Gestures

TW/CW: Deaf!Reader, 18+ MDNI, Smut, Slight description of a past injury (blood and stitches), Choking (is it choking? Yes, ask Quinn, he’s the receiver. 😏 😏 😏), Oral sex (fem receiving), Unprotected Sex (use protections, silly), Just Quinn in love and horny over here

Count: 3532 words | Masterlist

You’re washing the dishes by hand early in the morning. Quinn yawns, sneakily getting himself a glass of orange juice. At that moment, you slam a cup down. He startles, jumping, almost spilling on himself.

He instantly faces you, his eyes zeroing in your hand, making sure you aren’t hurt if the cup breaks. Thankfully, you’re fine. The cup didn’t break. If you had, it won’t be the first time that you’ll break something when you unknowingly slam it. It’s not your fault. You simply can’t hear it.

Plus, it’s not like you do it all the time. You just occasionally put down some things harshly. Honestly, Quinn does that too.

On one side, breaking glassware—or anything at all—isn’t a big deal, because Quinn can always buy replacements. On the other, the possibility of you getting hurt during or after the process is his major concern. He doesn’t want another repeat of you getting a laceration across your palm like before. No. He can’t bear it. Even if it didn’t leave a scar, it burns through his memory. Forever haunting him.

Grounding himself, he focuses on the fact that you’re not hurt right not. He exhales a sigh of relief.

‘You’re okay’, he repeats in his head.

Slowly, he approaches you, taking the oven mitt on the counter, he uses it to lightly fan at you.

The gust of wind makes you turn towards him, smiling your kind grin. You dry your hands on a towel, then you sign, “Hi, Quinn.”

The sight of his signed name always makes his heart flutter, skipping a beat as it races in his chest. You’ve given that name to him and he will forever cherish it. It makes him feel so connected with you, especially when he knows yours. He signs it while he says, “My Love.”

A flush paints your cheeks when you watch both his hands and his lips. For a moment, you turn your face away, covering it with your hands as a soft ‘hmmm’ escapes you.

Yeah, you do that sometimes. Like you’re brimming with so much giddiness at the simple sight of him calling you your name and his endearment for you. It makes Quinn want to do it again and again and again.

He comes closer, gently putting his hands around your wrists, pulling down from your face. You look at him with wide eyes, your cheeks still so red. His thumbs trace circles on your skin of your inner wrists before tracing over your palms, feeling your delicate skin.

The laceration didn’t scar—thank fuck—but for Quinn, he swears he can still feel its existence. He can never forget how hot the blood rushing from the gash before he pressed a towel on it, how his heart slammed in his chest like battering ram from your panicked sounds as you cried until you two got to the hospital. It truly haunts him. He doesn’t want it to happen again.

He runs his thumbs over your palms once more, then he lets go.

“Be careful. You are slamming the glassware,” he says while signing it, just like how you taught him.

Your head tilts to the side. “I did?”

“Yes, please be careful. You might get hurt again.” He sighs, rubbing his chest as an ache bloom right there. “Why are you even doing the dishes? We have a dishwasher.”

“For a few cups and plates?” You sign exasperatedly, lecturing him about saving water and energy, explaining how you find it therapeutic to wash them.

Your gestures start small then turn bigger when you suddenly go into a tangent about electric energy, electric cars, and then crocheting beanies. How you get to that subject is a mystery to Quinn.

He can only blink as he tries to keep up. There are a few signs he fails to understand but by context clues, he gets it.

He makes a mental note to ask for your help. He needs to understand everything you say. It’s not good if he still heavily relies on clues when he’s been learning sign for quite a while now. It’s hard learning sign. No. Not that. It’s more of he’s still very new to it despite the whole year of learning it.  

He still finds himself going word-for-word. He doesn’t realize it until he replays the gestures in his mind and realizes he could’ve done another sign. Sometimes you sign so quickly that he cannot catch it. Like right now. You’re getting so fast that he’s getting overwhelmed instead of understanding. It makes his eyes sting as tears build up from his slight panic.

He brings up his hand, making you pause. Slowly he takes your hands, a silent plea for help, because he truly needs it. He can’t keep up.

“Sorry,”he mutters, enunciating the word.

You step closer, gripping his hands back as tightly as he does. You shake your head. Quinn understands the look in your eyes, because he knows you so well. They say, “No need to apologize. Do you want me to repeat it?”

To that, he nods. You both take a seat on the stools by the counter. The dishes are long forgotten as you repeat everything slower. It’s a wonder how you manage to remember everything you’ve said. Still, you carried every bit of emotions—though all over the place—like you had. Your gestures are bigger as they were.

Quinn finds himself relaxing when he can understand you.

You’ve been utterly patient with him. So warm. You’re perfectly the reason why he does his best in his sign language classes which he keeps as a secret. There will be a time in the future when you don’t need to repeat yourself because he’ll understand everything no matter how fast you speak. A time when he doesn’t need to sneak to his classes because he’s done with them. A time when he won’t be so clumsy with his signs. He just hopes it comes sooner.

He wants to talk to you so much every day. He wants his words to be seen by you. You lip-reading him is not enough when he has limbs to speak with you. He needs to learn so when—not if—you two have children, he’ll teach them too.

“I want to crochet a sweater for you.” Your eyes are twinkling with excitement. You ask, “Will you wear it after I finish it?”

It’s such a wonder how washing the dishes came to crocheting, but Quinn’s here for it.

“Yes,” he says breathlessly as your fingers traces the veins on his hand, feeling up his forearms and back to his hand. When your eyes come back up his face, he mutters, “Thank you for repeating what you said.”

“No problem, Quinn. You always repeat what you say for me too.”

Your words make him wonder. Does he? He never notices if he repeats himself. His memories are more locked onto him making you go over what you’ve said. Maybe he does. He doesn’t mind it if he does. He’ll continue doing it, because you’re so important to him.

He notes the grin on your face, showing your pretty teeth, the corners of your eyes crinkling. He loves how expressive you are. Always communicating with him. Your face and your body.

When you’re happy, your eyes basically beam like stars in the skies of a rural area where they can be seen without the pollution in the air. When you’re so excited, you are basically jumping while you gesture with lightness and just pure joy, which he can feel. 

When you’re sad or disheartened, your shoulders will slump, and your signs will be a lot smaller. When you’re angry or pissed, your ears would turn so red, your eyebrows extremely furrowed, and your signs would be so choppy and wild. You would either face him or turn away so you wouldn’t see him retort. Luckily, he doesn’t get you angry at him frequently. He tries not to.

He loves your sounds. They’re indiscernible, coming out when you’re getting into the conversation so much. He doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t think that he should at all. It’s just you. It’s another way of how you communicate. Sometimes you try to speak his name. The slightest sound of Q. Quinn takes that. The sound basically ingrained in his soul.

You’re trying to say his name.

His. Name.

Nothing’s better than that.

On that note, he always gets annoyed when people throw glances when you sign and let out those noises in public. He doesn’t mind curious or confused glances, but he loathes those who judge or scoffs. They should mind their fucking business. Every time he gets pissed, you will give his forehead a chop, reprimanding him. When he doesn’t ease, you will walk away because you’re so done with his antics, and he has no other choice but to stalk after you like a lost puppy, trying to get you to look at him for minutes until you finally do.

He can’t help it. He gets protective over you, even when you don’t need him to. You told him many times, but he really, really, really can’t help it.

He needs you to be comfortable. Anywhere. Everywhere.

That includes your—and his—home.

It’s really casual changes. Really. Like the doorbell that’s connected to lights he installed in every room, so you’ll know if there’s someone at the door when he’s not home. Like the flashing alarm for fire, smoke, carbon monoxide, so that you’ll always be safe like him in case of emergency. Like the speakers that have good bass, so you’ll enjoy your music. Like the TV with a permanently on closed captions—along the subscription programs that should always automatically play with them—so that you’ll have fun with your shows. Like the little nook he prepared for your reading or crafting or working or whatever you want to do. Little things. Casual things. Just for you.

If you two were to move to a bigger place, he can’t wait to do it all over again. He’s making a home for you. It has to be perfect.

When you first got together, Quinn did a ton of research on having a relationship with a person with hearing disability. That was why for your second date, he asked how you wanted him to approach you. Honestly, he feels so fucking proud when you stared at him with surprise and your jaw open, because you didn’t expect that. Then you smiled so widely that it made him fall so deeply in love with you on the second date. It’s surreal.

Quinn still didn’t know sign back then, so you conversed with your notebook or your phone. You explained about flicking the lights on and off, lightly fanning at you, doing a bigger wave when he’s in your peripherals, and even stomping on the wooden floor. He’s been doing those things and still to this day, he feels so amazing whenever you greet him with that beautiful smile.

“Hmm,” you hum, bringing him back to reality. “Where did you go?”

“Just here,” he scoots closer, putting a thigh between yours so he can get even closer. “What are your plans today?”

He shudders when your hand comes up to rest over his neck while he speaks, his hands stopping immediately mid sign. He sees the way your eyes dart from lips to his eyes, your slow and seductive blinks over your eyes with your pupils blowing out, your breaths that come out deeper like pants. The corner of his lips comes up, a chuckle escaping him which makes you preen and visibly crave for more.

“No plans,” you sign with so much longing in your eyes, “Your voice rumbles.”

“Does it?” He presses your hand firmer against his throat. He groans when you take that as invitation—thank fuck—and squeezes perfectly against his carotid arteries, controlling his blood circulation to his head. He moans, eyes rolling up for a second. “Fuck, yes.”

He’s so fucking hard. Another squeeze, and he’s making a fucking mess in his briefs. When your other hand runs down his chest, down to his crotch, he groans which makes you moan. Fuck, you sound so good. Feel so good.

He gives both of you a few more minutes to take each of your touches in, before he drags you back to your shared bedroom. He immediately kisses you, his tongue immediately seeking comfort against yours. He pushes you on the bed, crawling over you, panting as you spread your legs so readily for him. Yet, he still hooks his knee under your thigh, spreading further.

When your hand slips under his shirt, he quickly removes it, helping off yours, until both of you are naked. He grinds his aching cock against your wet slit, rubbing on your clit over and over again. Damn it. He’s already so fucking close. He’s not even inside of you yet.

Your whines are tiny as you breathe them out. He wants to sink into your pussy so bad but the way you tug at his hair, your touch around his throat before it snakes to his shoulder to push him down, he knows what you need.

 So he kisses your lips, your jaw, your delicate neck. He sucks on your skin hard enough to leave his marks. He licks his way down to your wonderful tits that fit so well in his hands. He licks the underside of your breast before sucking your pert nipple.

One after another.

Oh the way you sigh. The way your fingers slip into his hair, your nails scratching his scalp so wonderfully. You look like a Goddess looking down at him, urging him to do your bidding. So he lightly nip at your buds, groaning when you moan and whine, making sure to press his front against yours to let you feel all the noises he makes. He needs you to know how much you affect him.

When your hips lift, begging for friction, he pushes them down, but he starts kissing his way down, down, and down. Pressing a light kiss on each of your hip, he hooks his hands over your thighs and lifts and settles between. He watches your arousal drip from your pussy.

Taking deep inhales, he takes in your scent. It’s so heady, making him all dizzy, his eyesight blurring as he leans closer, greedily taking in every hint of you. Then he licks from your entrance to your throbbing clit. He doesn’t stop when your thighs squeeze around his head, when your delicate fingers tug his hair. He laves at your cunt like it’s his last chance to consume you. You tastes so exquisite, and when he blows over your clit, you hips buck off, threatening to suffocate him. He doesn’t care if he does.

He continues eating you out, fucking you with his tongue and his fingers. He moans into your heat, letting you feel the vibrations from every sound he makes. By the time your pussy walls convulse around his tongue, you are screaming. The sound of you being undone by him is music to his ears.

Giving your clit one last suck, he crawls over you, kissing your lips, ensuring that you can taste yourself on his tongue. Your sharp inhale only ignites the fire in him as your hands hook over his shoulder, pulling him closer and closer, bearing his weight on you. His cock slides against your sensitized pussy, making you both moan into each other’s lips.

Fuck.

He needs you.

He pulls away, not wanting to crush you with his weight for so long, only for your hand to wrap around his neck, pressing once more on his pulse points. Its thud, thud, thud is so loud, so strong.

Can you feel it?

Can you feel how his heart race for you? How it only beats for you? How every space, every atom, every cell running through it is yours?

Can you?

Do you?

You overwhelm his senses the right way. His head swims with nothing else but your feel, your touch, your smell, your sight. Maybe it’s just him being light-headed from your hand. Maybe. No. It’s just that. He—

You give him a squeeze, pulling him out of his head. He sees the worry in your eyes before it turns to relief. You smile, pressing a soft peck on his nose. An intelligible grumble escapes him, before he goes all out. He showers you with kisses. On the tip of your nose, your eyelids, your eyebrows, your cheeks, your temples, your forehead, your chin. He just can’t get enough of you.

When you give his throat another squeeze, he groans, resting his forehead against yours. “Gonna come if you don’t stop,” Quinn gasps, rubbing his length on your slicked folds, shuddering when your thumbs trace over his chin, over his lips. “Harder, my Love.”

He watches your lips mimic his word like you’re tasting it, savoring the two syllables. A small smile dances on your lips, pressing one thumb over his lower lip keep pressing your thumb over his lower lip. Quinn grunts, kissing it, saying his name like a plea, as you choke him harder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses both in his head and out loud, never afraid to be vocal. He knows you can feel every rumble of a word that escapes him. He knows how much you like it.

He grinds harder into your pussy. He’s so hyperfocus on the feel of your pussy, of your hands around his throat, of your warm breath on his skin, of your pussy walls as it hugs him so perfectly when he finally slides in, that he doesn’t care how much lightheaded he’s getting.

The only thing important for him now is for you to come around him and for him to come deep inside you.

He wants that so fucking bad. You always let him come deep inside you, always let him lick your cum-filled pussy right after, always let him get his fill even if you get too overstimulated.

Fuck.

He needs that.

“Q,” you cry out, fueling his thrusts.

You said his name. His name.

“Again, please. Please,” he pleads.

Your mewls and moans are music to his soul that wants nothing but to be one with you, his Love. His nickname with your whimpering sounds amazing, alluring as you say it again. Just for him. Oh, he loves hearing his name on your tongue. He kisses you as he angles his thrusts to hit that specific spot that has you screaming into his lips, has your hips bucking up to meet his brutal thrusts, has your nails digging into the skin of his neck.

The pain just amplifies the pleasure Quinn is feeling.

He needs more, so he bites into your lower lip.

The action is responded with a tighter grip around his throat, as your pussy convulses. You’re coming so hard, wet pussy walls clamping around him, your thighs shaking, your back arching off the bed, your lips parting with your silent and breathy scream.

The next thing Quinn knows is him slamming deep as he spills and paints your walls white with his cum.

And he fucking faints.

Just for a second because you immediately slap him awake.

“Ow,” he groans. “What the fuck, my Love?”

You chuckle as if you two didn’t just get the best fucking orgasm—every orgasm is the best with you—of your lives. Your hand gently rubs along his neck, making him hiss from the slight pain from the nail marks you’ve left. He shifts, gasping as your pussy clenches around his softening cock. Shamelessly, he starts getting hard again like his body is cursing him from trying to rest when he’s still seated inside you.

“You’re heavy,” you tease, keeping him in place with your shaking leg. “I love your weight on me.”

Quinn lets out a choking sound, burying his head into your neck, making sure he’s not fully crushing you. You can’t just say things like that.

Now, he’s really, really hard again.

It hurts being so hard after coming. Did you know that?

When your fingers gently tap the shell of his ear, a little signal that you want him to look at you, he does. He parts from your neck after he places a kiss right on your pulse. He meets your beautiful gaze, lips parting at how ethereal you look all fucked by him. Your hair is sticking to your skin that glistens with sweat. Your cheeks are flushed and red. You’re so pretty.

“Let’s stay like this for a moment,” you request to which Quinn nods.

He easily shifts your position on your sides. His cock is still in your pussy. Both of you spend minutes just staring into each other’s eyes, your hands on each other’s chest, feeling each other’s racing heartbeats.

Quinn can hear his own.

He swears he can hear yours as it beats under his palm.

He hears both for the two of you.

That’s enough for him.

[eyesthatroll]

Let It Happen (LH43) 1/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No school? Check.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deserves better. 

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

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

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

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

Luke Hughes loves summer.

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

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

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

He does love living with his brother.

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

And he really is grateful for that.

But, God, can he be annoying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s nothing.”

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

“Fine, it’s Ellie.”

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

“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know her?”

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

Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,”

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

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since when do you work here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Five minutes of your time?”

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

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

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

Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know who you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about ‘em?”

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

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

Us. Oh, he likes that.

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

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

“A nudge, then?”

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

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

“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”

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

“How profound.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is fun. 

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

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

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

“We could make a competition out of it.”

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

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

“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t see that happening.”

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

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

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

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

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

But God, you were pretty. 

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

“I’m Luke.”

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

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

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Luke.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know her.”

“Clearly.”

“This is her basket.”

“Does she need to sign for it?”

“No, I-,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has you figured out, by now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cole Caufield being one of them. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn. You walked yourself right into that one. 

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

“You wish.”

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

“I think you’re an idiot.”

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

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

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

“Good for her.”

“Alone.”

“No shit.”

“To ask her out.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How could you possibly know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you find out?”

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

“Does this mean we’re teammates?” 

“No. It absolutely does not.”

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

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

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

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

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

Much better.

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

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

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

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

So it has to be for him and Jessica.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was I not supposed to?”

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

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

“Well done, you can read.”

“Why?”

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

“So?”

“He’s on a date.”

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

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

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

“To get his hair cut.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

“Any food?”

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

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

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

“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”

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

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

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

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

“Won’t he complain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In your dreams, Hughes.”

Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That would usually drive him crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re really keeping score?”

“You’re not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She started it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wasn’t feeling it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you get to that conclusion?”

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

A death wish might actually be an understatement.

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

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

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

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

“What, that?”

“You’re so dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not something you really love talking about. 

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

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

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

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

Interstellar. 

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

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

“Me too. I love space movies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re gonna be so shocked.”

“Sports movies?”

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

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

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

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

“Only if I get to ask one back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>PART TWO<

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

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

[eyesthatroll]

https://www.tumblr.com/bratbarzal/775440614850543616/hi-can-i-please-request-nico-x-meiersister-with

Oh thank you for the message and can I request enemies to lovers prompt “you have a date? how much did you pay them?" with Nico

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

“you have a date? how much did you pay them?" with Nico!! my love language is actually having beef so I feel like this version of him speaks to me, he's such an instigator, he'd make such a good enemy to lover. thank you for requesting!!! I feel like because it's been so long since valentines now that these last few blurbs probably won't mention it I hope that's okay!!! love is still in the air lmao thank you for the request!!

word count: 3k

"Where's your little friend gone?"

You resist the urge to outwardly groan as you swivel in your place at the bar, your legs growing a little tired already having been stood for almost five minutes waiting to be served.

It's your best friend's fault the place is so busy - her choosing the spot for her belated engagement party, and all - and you can't be too annoyed that it's taking a little longer than usual to get a drink, but you'd like to think the perks of being maid of honour would get you a little VIP treatment, like a fast track pass to the front of the line.

Apparently not, because VIP treatment would keep people like Nico Hischier, the ironically named best man, far away from you.

You'd successfully managed to avoid Nico, thus far, him staying on his side of the room, and you on yours, and you almost thought he might be steering clear entirely, but here he is - bothering you, as he so often does.

"Conor is my date, actually," you throw out to your side, trying not to cringe at the way it sounds. Who brings a first date to their friend's engagement party?

A psychopath, that's who.

But you just wanted to look less like the loser best friend with no partner. You wanted to look like you at least have prospects, like you're not some lonely spinster looking to hook up with whatever raging weirdos end up being groomsmen.

Raging weirdos like the best man, who's now plaguing you with his presence, like he doesn't know how much it bothers you. Or like he doesn't care.

"Oh yeah, how much did that set you back?"

"You seriously think I had to pay him?" You scoff, narrowing your eyes as he leans against the bar, a playful tilt of his head and a slappable smirk crossing his features. "I'm capable of being asked out without having to bribe anybody, thank you very much. You on the other hand look awfully lonely tonight."

"You offering to keep me company?" his smirk widens, mischief glistening in his darkened eyes as he leans in a little, "Your date's been on that call a while, I give him two minutes before he's coming back here with some dumb excuse to leave."

"You're unbelievable," you scowl, rolling your eyes and diverting your attention back to the other side of the bar, looking past the occupied bartender to where you can see the guy you came with through the window, pacing the street as he talks into the phone, making wild gestures with his hands. He's definitely about to ditch you. Or, even worse, he's going to come back here and be in a foul mood all night.

Either way, your evening with him is ruined.

And that's the last time you ever rely on an app for a last minute date to an important event - especially one where Nico might be in attendance.

You can't even remember at this point why the two of you don't get along. Your best friend Sasha has been dating his best friend Timo for years, and whatever wrong foot you had initially got off on should have corrected itself by now. The two of you are technically going to be inevitably linked, but there's something about him that just bothers you.

It could be the staring problem - dark eyes that somehow find you from across every room, and watch you so intently that you can feel the waves of judgement try to sweep you away.

It could be the condescending tone he reserves just for when he's speaking to you - so nice and sweet and unassuming to everybody else, but the second his attention directs itself towards you, it's sharper, snarkier - and the cherry on top is the way his mouth turns up in the corners, because of course he singles you out on purpose, and likes that you realise it, too.

Or it could just be the way he seems to enjoy your dynamic a little too much - seeks you out when you might actually be having fun, just to remind you that he's there, and there's the constant threat of his attention being directed your way.

Which seems to be what's happening, now. He'd seen you - spied on you, in fact, because he's so clearly obsessed - enjoying someone else's company, and couldn't help himself from trying to rain on your parade.

You're not gonna give him the satisfaction.

"He has a really important job, actually," you lie, a sardonic smile that does very little to hide your glare flashed his way. It might not even be a lie, you just don't exactly remember what your date even does for a living. You'd been kind of distracted by the sight of Nico hanging around the happy couple when you came in, and a lot of what was discussed at the beginning of the night went in one ear and out the other. "Could be out there making life-saving decisions for all you know, and you're in here chirping him for being a flake."

"Oh yeah?" Nico asks, leaning in a little more, sliding his beer bottle just out of the way as not to knock it, with a glint in his eyes that makes your hands ball into fists, nails digging into your palms. "What does he do?"

"Really important stuff." You say, cursing yourself immediately because, what the fuck? Why would that even come out? Since when don't you have a link between your mouth and your brain? And even though you try to claw some sense of dignity back with, "None of your business," the way he smirks makes your toes curl.

"How long have you been seeing him?"

"How long have you been doubling as an interrogator?"

"Was just a question," he chuckles, dimples forming so deep in his cheeks that you want to jab your finger at them until it hurts and he stops fucking smiling like that. "Sasha never said you were seeing anybody."

"Why would she?"

"Because I asked."

"Why would you ask?" You frown, leaning into him just as much because he might have actually piqued your intrigue.

You want to say you'd never ask about his personal life - that you couldn't give less of a fuck about what he gets up to outside of the few times in a month you're forced into his company, but that wouldn't exactly be the truth.

You'd seen him on a dating app last month.

You'd swiped not interested as quick as you possibly could - obviously after looking through his sometimes almost-shirtless pictures and reading through his profile, because, sue you, you're just a naturally curious person - but you'd still seen him there and cursed whatever algorithm had thrown him into your path, causing you to spent the next hour of scrolling comparing the next few candidates to Nico of all people.

So many boring guys in suits. So many dog pictures. So many dudes into long walks on the beach and spending time with family. So many generic nobodies without an ounce of personality to share between the bunch of them.

And that had been where you found Conor, regretfully.

It hadn't even occurred to you with how quick you tried to erase him from your feed that Nico might have seen you too.

"Why do you think?"

You feel a little like time stops once he asks, quirking a brow and levelling you with the kind of gaze that makes your mouth feel dry. Your tongue swipes out to wet your lips in preparation of some sort of response, but just as the wires finally connect in your brain to assemble any attempt at a coherent thought, you feel the press of a hand on your shoulder.

"Here you are," Conor greets you, an apologetic smile flashed your way as he stands beside you, his hand staying rooted against your arm. "Sorry about that, was a work thing."

Thank God, you think, shuddering a little in relief. Imagine he came over and told you it was just his buddy calling about a football game or something. Nico would never let you hear the end of it.

Nico, who is still leaning in the exact same position on the bar, not letting your date intrude on the moment he was trying to create between the two of you. The moment you so often find yourself entangled in with him - where he lures you into some humiliating trap and you have no choice but to fold to his victory of getting you all frustrated and flustered.

"It's fine," you tell your date, tearing your gaze away from scrutinisingly dark eyes, and flashing a quick, half-hearted smile. "I was just getting another drink."

"I'll pass," he says, like you offered in the first place, "I'm actually gonna have to head out."

"Oh," you pout, more bothered by the fact he's giving Nico the satisfaction of being right than by him actually abandoning your date. You try not to shift your gaze to the presence still lingering behind him, a blur of enticingly dark features that you refuse to focus on, and keep your attention on the disappointing an in front of you. If you catch even a glimpse of a know-it-all smirk you have no hesitation around launching a swift kick to his shin.

"I'm really sorry," he pouts, and it's almost like he doesn't even notice Nico, because you'd like to think he would have a little more consideration for your dignity if he did. "I'd love to see you again, though, we can figure something out, I'll text you, yeah?"

"Sure," you drag out, forcing a sickly sweet smile that says anything but, I'd rather choke on bar peanuts than speak to you again. "We'll figure something out."

Conor leaves after pressing a small kiss to your cheek, and you resist the urge to wipe it away as he retreats, watching until he's completely gone before you dare look Nico's way again, eyes narrowed and jaw set as you take in his smug, punchable face. "Not a word."

"I wasn't gonna say anything," he scoffs, amusement shimmering in his irises as he takes a swig of his beer, tongue swiping out against his stupidly pink lips as he savours the taste. "I don't take as much pleasure in your misery as you think."

"I'm hardly miserable," you roll your eyes, leaning onto your elbows and finally making eye contact with the bartender, "We're gonna reschedule."

"Please," he scoffs, a humourless chuckle causing you to side eye him, your breath catching a little when you see the way his lips quirk up, cheeks dimpling into the kind of smile that would make your body tense up if Nico were any other guy. "You're never seeing that idiot again."

"You don't even know him," you frown, "You can't just call him an idiot."

You divert your attention back to the bartender as he nears the two of you, and Nico turns to his right just before he reaches you, flashing a charming smile that has the guy stopping in his tracks before he's ordering your drink for you. The name of the exact wine you usually get slips from his tongue before you even have a chance to tell him, and all you can do is watch, mouth agape as your drink is poured for you.

"Don't have to know him," Nico shrugs, handing over his card as he pushes the wine glass your way, his brow jumping like a silent instruction for you to take a sip. "The guy stinks of stupidity, you're better off blocking his number to be honest."

"Oh, well, if that's what you think I should do," you press your fingers to the stem of the glass, pulling it to sit on the bar just in front of you, careful not to let the liquid slosh too much inside and spill, "Then of course I'll block him! I should just let you choose my next suitor while we're at it, is there anybody around here you'd approve of?"

You don't even know why his remark has offended you - you were considering it, anyway, if you're honest - but the thought of Nico assuming he has any say in what you do with your dating life sort of has your blood boiling.

"Can't think of anybody, no," his lips downturn a little, like he's actually considering it in the first place, and his dark eyes watch you closely as you take a sip, careful not to act like you're acknowledging the way he even knew your order in the first place. "If you're desperate, I can put the feelers out for you, though."

"You're one to talk about desperate," you retort, chest puffing in indignation as you straighten up a little, watching as he does the same and hating the way your neck slowly cranes to follow. He'd been leaning, before, easier for you to meet his eye and feel like you stood even the slightest chance of overpowering him - but now he's before you, tall in his stature, broad in his presence, and your breath catches again when you take in that quick flash of entertainment in his features.

"Why's that?" he asks, an innocent tilt of his head and a slight quirk in the corner of his lips.

And you thank your lucky stars that you catch yourself before biting back, because you're fishing around dating apps just to get laid.

You'd been doing the exact same thing, and you'd bet your entire apartment on the fact that he knows.

But now he's waiting on a response, a little closer, it seems, than he had been before, and there's a glint in his eye that makes your spine tingle, watching as his gaze drops a little and then flickers back up. Your throat is dry, and no amount of wine is going to alleviate it, and all you can do is try to gulp down the sensation while you think of something - anything - to say.

"Excuse me, everybody, can I have your attention!"

You tear your gaze past Nico to see the two of your best friends stood beside each other, trying to ignore the way his smile firms up out of the corner of your eye and focus on Timo, who you're currently thanking God for.

Sasha is tucked under his arm, beaming up at him with the kind of look that makes your heart leap a little in envy, all googley-eyed and flushed, and you press your lips together while Nico finally turns beside you, waiting for him to carry on.

"So a couple years ago, when I first moved to Jersey, my best friend Nico brought me to this bar to celebrate," Timo starts, his voice carrying throughout the bar, and his eyes flash toward where you stand beside Nico, flashing a wide grin his way, "And he bought me a drink, and we toasted to new beginnings, and to great things coming our way, and little did I know, the greatest thing of all was sat in that booth over in the corner."

Timo points toward the other side of the bar, where you remember sitting with Sasha the night they met - the two of you out to celebrate her getting a new job. It had been a hectic time in both of your lives, with rare opportunities to catch up at all, and you remember being super buzzed and a little too loud for it just being you and her.

"And we're at the bar, and there was this shriek of a laugh that caught my attention all the way from where Nico and I were sat," Timo carries on, despite the quick swat Sasha delivers to his chest, and you can't help but chuckle as you watch them, your cold, envious heart thawing a little, "And I was so distracted trying to figure out where it came from that I lost out to Nico already calling dibs, and making his way straight over there,"

Your smile wavers a little, jealousy slowly creeping its way back in.

You remember laughing with Sasha, although you don't entirely remember at what, covering your mouth as you tried to get her to be quieter. You were both a few cocktails in at that point, and it was really no use, her laughing even louder at the thought of being too loud in the first place.

You remember a figure approaching, and the two of you slowly giving him your attention, looking up at a slight blur of fluffy brown hair and a dimpled smile.

You remember being so caught up in how gorgeous he was that you were letting Sasha do all the talking - and that's just how the story usually went, back then, Sasha taking the lead in conversation and you residing in her shadow.

She'd charmed the both of them, when Nico had dropped some line about the bar getting busier, and wondering if they could cohabitate your booth so they weren't taking up valuable space at the bar. Timo had slid in beside Sasha, and Nico beside you, and you'd gone a little quiet. You didn't have the confidence back then, not really. You'd been sort of recently out of a relationship that had pretty much drained it from you, and if you'd been expecting the night to take such a turn, you might have been able to prepare yourself, but every time you figured out a way to insert yourself into the conversation, the three of them were moving on.

Then Nico had made some comment about how quiet you were, and you'd bitten something back, and that's how the two of you had carried on ever since.

And you don't exactly feel bad about it, now, knowing he was only ever there to claim his dibs on Sasha in the first place.

Prick.

"But we end up sat at their table, and I'm talking and laughing with this pretty girl all night, and me and Nico end up going back to the bar for drinks, and I tell him his dibs can go fuck themselves, 'cause there's no way I'm not gonna marry her!"

There's a couple aww's around the room that have you pushing your lips into a smile again, eyes flickering to Sasha and meeting her eye for a moment until you soften.

"And luckily he never meant dibs for Sasha in the first place, but that doesn't matter, 'cause she's got my ring on her finger regardless of who they were for."

Nico stiffens beside you, and you feel your body do the same, looking wide eyed between him and the happy couple as Sasha pointedly avoids your gaze.

You want to call out for Timo to rewind as he carries on his speech, talking about their engagement, and their wedding coming up in the summer. You want to try and telepathically communicate with Sasha, wondering why the fuck she didn't seem perturbed by such a statement, still looking up at her fiancé with hearts in her eyes and a complete disregard for your confusion. You want to grab onto Nico, to ask who the fuck he was supposedly calling dibs on if not your best friend he spent the entire night schmoozing - but he's making his way over to embrace them as Timo's speech wraps up

Instead, you're left on your own at the bar - your favourite glass of wine in front of you, a voice swirling around your brain that sounds like a deep muttering of, why do you think?

Your hand moves of its own accord to get your phone out from your purse, swiping through your contacts until you find Conor, and his number is freshly blocked by the time you even realise what you're doing.

And when you chance a glance back over, you meet his eye, that same amused glimmer reflecting all the way from the other side of the room.

Your breath catches again, your heart hammering in your chest and your pulse pounding all the way up into your skull - and all you can wonder is if this is all just a part of his usual ploy to get you flustered.

If so, you think you're just going to have to surrender to the fact that he wins, just this time, and you're gonna have to up your game if you want to get him back.

[eyesthatroll]

Strike | Jack Hughes

Pairing; Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Situationship, SMUT, cursing, spanking, semi public sex? unprotected sex (wrap it up!), edited once.

Request; "girlie could you please do a NSFW(18+) of Jack, like the reader does something that makes him jealous and it turns into spice. Thanks so much!! <3"

Word Count; 2.8k

Author's note; Thank you so much for the request, friend!! I hope you like it (: The intro is a little rushed, but I didn't want this to be straight porn, so there's a teeny bit of plot. Any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated. Much love. -Honey

Jack knew you were doing it on purpose. The way you giggled beside Trevor, leaning just a little too close, pretending not to know how to hold the damn bowling ball properly—it was all a performance. A coy tilt of your head, that innocent shrug, all just bait so Trevor would step behind you, hands slipping around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jack took another swig of his beer, the bottle cold and slick in his grip, but it did nothing to wash down the sour taste rising in his throat. His eyes stayed fixed on you, on the way your head tipped back in laughter at something Trevor said, your hair swinging, lips parted just a little too wide. You weren’t even trying to be subtle.

It only took a moment before Trevor backed off, grinning like he’d just won something, and you stepped up to the line. Jack narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, your stance shifted—shoulders squared, knees slightly bent. No hesitation. No awkward wobble. Just a smooth, confident release. The ball glided down the lane, curving cleanly before smashing into the pins with a satisfying crash—strike.

Jack barely restrained an eye-roll. His jaw tightened as you let out a high-pitched squeal, spinning around and leaping into Trevor’s open arms like you’d been waiting all night for an excuse. Trevor caught you with practiced ease, hands slipping low, fingers resting right on the curve of your ass. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t protest. You just clung to him, beaming like the whole thing was harmless fun.

He finishes off the last of his beer in one long pull, the bottle hitting the table a little harder than necessary. Quinn, seated beside him, throws a sideways glance, brow raised, but Jack ignores it. He doesn’t have the patience for concerned looks—not right now.

"Your turn," Trevor says with a grin, swaggering back to the table with his arm draped casually around your shoulders. Jack grits his teeth as he watches the way you tilt your face up toward Trevor, eyes shining like you’ve forgotten anyone else exists. Like he’s the only one worth looking at.

Jack pushes himself out of his chair with a suddenness that makes it scrape loudly against the floor. He rounds the table without a word, heading to the lane. His fingers slip into the holes of the bowling ball with a practiced familiarity, but he doesn’t bother with form or focus. He just throws.

The ball rockets down the lane, humming against the polished wood, slamming into the pins with a violent crack. Strike.

"Damn, Jack," Trevor calls out with a low chuckle, "what’d those pins do to you?"

That gets a laugh out of you—light and unrestrained, as if it’s the funniest thing you’ve heard all night. Jack’s eye twitches, his fists clenching as he turns around—and that’s when he sees it.

You’re not in your chair anymore. You’re in Trevor’s lap.

Perched sideways, comfortably nestled against him like you’ve done it before. Trevor’s hand rests on the inside of your bare thigh, fingers splayed just beneath the hem of your skirt. Not hidden. Not subtle. And you’re not tensed. You’re smiling.

"I'm gonna go use the bathroom," you say softly, voice barely rising above the hum of music and clatter of pins in the background.

Trevor gives your thigh a lingering squeeze before letting you slide off his lap. You adjust your skirt with a quick tug and turn toward the dim hallway at the back of the bowling alley, your footsteps muffled against the sticky, beer-slick floor.

Jack doesn’t move. His jaw locks, muscles twitching, as he watches you walk away—hips swaying slightly, hands tucked into the sleeves of your sweater like you're trying to disappear. It's only when Luke brushes past him on the way to take his turn that Jack snaps out of it.

"I'm getting another beer," he mutters, already turning away. He doesn’t head to the bar.

His Nike's echo in the corridor as he follows, the lights overhead flickering slightly, casting long shadows against the colorful walls. Just as you reach the corner where the bathrooms are tucked away, he grabs your arm—not roughly, but firm enough to stop you.

You flinch. Panic spikes in your chest, fast and sharp—until you spin around and see it’s Jack. Not a stranger, Jack. Still, the look in his eyes makes your stomach twist with something you can't describe, perhaps excitement.

“What are you doing?” you ask, brows furrowing as you pull your arm back, but not completely out of his grip.

He lets out a bitter, hollow laugh. “What am I doing? No—what the hell are you doing?”

His voice is low, rough with disbelief and something rawer underneath. His eyes search yours, as if he's waiting for you to say this is all some kind of joke.

You shake your head slowly. “What are you even talking about?”

You sound calm, but inside, you're unraveling, legs pressing together as his words go straight to your core. You know exactly what he's talking about.

Jack stares at you, his jaw tight, eyes darting between yours like he’s trying to find something—confirmation, maybe. Or a way to stop himself from saying the next thing. But it slips out anyway, harsh and unfiltered.

“Why are you all up on Trevor?” he asks, voice sharp, the words hitting with more weight than volume.

You lift a shoulder, letting it fall with studied nonchalance. A small, almost wicked smile curls at the corner of your lips.

“Can’t a girl have some fun?” you counter, light and playful.

“Not with Trevor,” he snaps, fast, like it’s a reflex. His hand tightens its grip on your arm just slightly—not painful, but enough to let you know he’s not just playing along.

Your smile widens a fraction, and you lean in just enough that he can smell the sweet trace of your perfume.

“Careful, Jack,” you hum, tilting your head to the side, “you’re starting to sound jealous.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a laugh, the sound void of any real amusement.

“Jealous?” he repeats, as if the word tastes sour. His eyes lock with yours, sharp and unblinking. “I already had you. What’s there to be jealous of?”

Your breath catches—just for a second. Just enough that he might notice.

The words hang between you, heavy with history. The hallway is suddenly too quiet, like the world outside it has faded away, leaving only the hum of the flickering fluorescent lights and the sound of two people trying not to fall apart—or fall back into each other.

You swallow, hard, bringing yourself back into the moment. You straighten your shoulders, schooling your features into something smug.

“If you’re not jealous,” you say slowly, tilting your head just enough to look up at him beneath your lashes, “then why’d you follow me to the bathroom?”

You pause, letting the question hang for a beat, then smile like you’ve just cornered him. “I think you want me.”

Jack’s expression hardens. In a single step, he closes the space between you, backing you against the wall. The sudden shift steals the breath from your lungs. His hands frame your body without touching, like he’s holding back by the thinnest thread.

“I think I want you,” he says, voice low and venomous, “to stop fucking with my best friend.”

The words crack like a whip, but you don’t flinch. Your pulse is thudding in your ears, but you keep your gaze locked on his.

“Or what?” you challenge, sliding your hand out of his grasp and pressing it flat against his chest. His heart is pounding under your palm. “Scared he’ll fuck me better than you did? That I won’t come running back to you anymore?”

His jaw clenches. His entire body goes still, rigid with something between rage and restraint.

“You shut your mouth,” he grits out, his head dipping lower. His breath fans across your lips, hot and uneven. His face is so close now you can see the dark flecks in his irises, the tension in his jaw, the war behind his eyes.

You arch a brow, breathless but defiant. “Make me.”

All of Jack’s restraint snaps in an instant.

He surges forward, and his mouth crashes against yours—hot, unrelenting, desperate. It’s not a gentle kiss; it’s teeth scraping lips, tongues tangling with a kind of hunger that feels both furious and familiar. Like neither of you knows whether you’re fighting or surrendering.

Your back hits the wall with a soft thud, and his hands are everywhere—sliding down your sides, gripping your waist before moving lower. His fingers dig into your ass as you grind against him, your hips meeting his in a frantic rhythm, seeking friction, seeking anything.

Jack pulls away just long enough to catch his breath—his eyes dark, wild, mouth swollen and red. Then he grabs your hand, wordless, and pulls you behind him down the narrow hallway.

The unisex bathroom door swings open, and you’re barely inside before he slams it shut and twists the lock. The click of it echoes, sharp and final.

Then his lips are on yours again.

There’s no pause, no hesitation—just raw, explosive need. His hands are back on your body, roaming like he’s trying to memorize every inch, relearn every curve he once knew so well. You pull at his shirt, nails scraping over his skin, and his groan rumbles against your mouth, low and primal.

Jack pulls away from your lips, his mouth trailing down to your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and then—his lips press a wet, open-mouthed kiss just below your jaw, followed by a deep, slow suck that draws a gasp from your throat.

You want to stop him—you should stop him. A protest flickers somewhere in the haze, a distant thought about the mark he’s leaving, about who might see it later. But your mind is syrupy with want, your limbs loose and uncooperative, and all you can do is breathe.

Your fingers slide into his messy hair, thick and overgrown, tugging hard at the roots as his teeth graze your neck. He nips at the skin, sharp enough to sting, before pulling back—just enough to let his breath sweep over the spot, cooling the freshly branded heat. Your knees nearly buckle.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just looks down at you with an unreadable gaze.

Then, slowly, he reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is unexpectedly tender, a strange contrast to the fire still crackling between you. He tilts your chin up with the knuckle of his finger, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Mine,” he murmurs.

The word is soft, but there’s nothing gentle about it. It lands between you like a brand, final and unyielding. A claim, not a question.

You barely have time to react before Jack yanks you from the wall and spins you toward the sink. Your palms slam down on the cool porcelain as he pushes your hips forward, bending you just enough that your breath catches. The mirror in front of you reflects it all—the flushed heat in your cheeks, the wild look in his eyes as he steps in behind you.

A low, primal groan rumbles from his chest as his hands slide to your waist, then down to the waistband of your mini skirt. With one smooth motion, he tugs it down your thighs and lets it fall to the floor in a soft rustle, pooling around your ankles.

His gaze drops—and lingers.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, eyes locked on the baby pink panties barely covering you. His fingers trail lightly over the lace, teasing the seam before tracing along the curve of your ass, slow and possessive.

Then, without warning, his palm cracks sharply against your skin.

You let out a surprised yelp, the sting blooming hot as the slap echoes against the tile walls—cutting through the distant thump of music from outside. The shock of it sends a jolt through your spine, your fingers tightening on the counter.

He soothes the red skin with a slow, soft rub.

“Walking around in that tiny ass skirt,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and full of lust. “You were just begging to be fucked, huh?”

He’s staring at you through the mirror, jaw clenched, pupils blown wide. The intensity in his eyes pins you in place more than his hands ever could.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to muffle the shaky breath that escapes you—and give your hips a small, deliberate wiggle, daring him.

It works.

His hand comes down again—harder, meaner. The second slap pulls a whine from your throat before you can stop it, the sound slipping free and echoing like a confession.

Jack leans forward, lips close to your ear.

“Don’t bite your lip,” he growls. “Want everyone out there to hear exactly what I’m doing to you.”

As he speaks, his left hand drops to his waist, fingers already working his belt loose.

Jack pulls his cock from his boxers, the head already slick with anticipation. He wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly, languidly, spreading the pre-cum with a low, satisfied grunt. His eyes don’t leave yours in the mirror as he moves behind you, and you feel the weight of his stare like a second touch—hot and unwavering.

Without a word, he hooks two fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them to the side with little care for the delicate lace. Cool air hits your now-exposed skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

Then—he lines himself up.

There’s no warning. Just the sudden, searing stretch of him pushing inside you, inch by inch. The pressure builds deliciously slow, your body clenching to take him, adjust to him. A long, strangled moan rips from your throat as your elbows buckle, your weight slumping forward against the counter.

He bottoms out with a low groan, hips flush against you, filling you completely. The stretch is intense, nearly overwhelming—and yet your body aches for more.

“Fuck,” he growls, the sound low and feral in your ear. “So fucking tight.”

Before you can catch your breath, he draws his hips back and slams into you again—harder this time, setting a punishing rhythm that echoes in the tiny bathroom, his skin slapping against yours, breath ragged and uneven.

You meet his eyes in the mirror, barely able to hold his gaze, but he doesn’t look away. If anything, it only fuels him more.

His rhythm builds—harder, deeper—with each thrust, rocking your body forward against the edge of the counter. The cool porcelain digs into your hips, grounding you just enough to stop you from completely unraveling. But your legs are already trembling, breath hitching with every sharp, wet slap of skin against skin.

“Look at me,” he growls, one hand snaking up your spine to tangle roughly in your hair. He jerks your head up just enough to make your gaze meet his in the mirror. “I said, look.”

Your eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded and dazed, locking onto his. The sight steals whatever air you had left—his jaw clenched, chest heaving, eyes dark with something deeper than just lust.

“You feel that?” he hisses, driving into you again, the motion sharp enough to drag a choked cry from your lips. “No one else gets you like this. No one else knows you like I do.”

Your fingers claw at the counter, knuckles white from the grip. You nod, or try to, but your body is too busy trying to keep up with the sensations flooding through you.

His free hand moves around your waist, slipping between your thighs without warning. His fingers find your clit and begin circling—slow, taunting, perfectly timed with each relentless thrust.

“You’re dripping for me,” he mutters, almost in awe. “Still so fuckin’ needy for me, even after everything.”

The coil in your stomach tightens sharply. You’re panting now, cheeks flushed, your reflection trembling in the mirror. You can’t look away from him—you don’t want to.

“Say it,” he demands, voice wrecked. “Tell me who you belong to.”

Your mouth falls open, but at first, nothing comes out—just a whimper, a moan caught halfway between shame and need.

His grip on your hip tightens, fingers digging into your skin.

“Say it.”

“Y-you,” you stammer, voice hoarse and breaking. “Fuck—Jack, I’m yours.”

His eyes blaze in the mirror, satisfied and hungry all at once. He slams into you one final time, deep and intense, and your body clamps down around him with a gasp so loud it drowns out the music beyond the door. Your climax rips through you—hot, overwhelming, electric.

He follows seconds later, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his body shudders behind you, breath warm against your skin as he spills his cum into you.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moves. Just the sound of your panting and the fading thump of bass from outside.

Then, slowly, he pulls out, your body trembling in the sudden emptiness. His hands are gentle now—smoothing down your sides, fixing the panties he so carelessly displaced only minutes ago.

And still, his eyes find yours in the mirror.

“Mine,” he says again—this time, quieter. Not a command.

A reminder.

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[eyesthatroll]

big hands | luke hughes

luke hughes x fem!reader

rec: Can I request prompt 18. can we compare hand sizes with luke please. I love your writing!!

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

You weren’t trying to flirt. Honestly, you just liked the color.

“Hey, cool shorts. They kinda match my top.”

That’s what you said.

But to the guy in the salmon-colored Chubbies, that was apparently a green light to talk your ear off about his workout routine, his protein powder, his hedge fund internship, and his “self-discipline mindset.”

You tried to nod along at first. You really did.

But then he started talking about “grindset culture” and asked if you’d “ever been to Monaco,” and that was your cue.

“I’m gonna go find my friend,” you mumbled, already backing away.

He smiled like he’d won something. “You should come back later. I could show you my crypto portfolio.”

You escaped into the house, dodging couples pressed against doorframes and someone aggressively playing Rage Against the Machine in the kitchen. You found your friend—well, you found her foot first, sticking out from under a blanket on the couch in the guest room, tangled up with Econ Group Project Guy.

You blinked. “Oh. There you are.”

She lifted her head, hair messy, flushed and smiling like she’d just won the lottery.

You gave her a thumbs up and quietly backed out.

The porch was quieter. Cooler. Saner.

And there he was.

Luke Hughes, hoodie pulled over his head, legs stretched out on the porch swing like he’d been there the whole time. You knew him in that “friend of a friend who’s at all the same parties” kind of way. Hockey guy. Tall. Quiet. Pretty.

He looked up. “Hey.”

You exhaled, smile tugging at your lips. “Hey.”

“You alright?”

“Almost got crypto-kidnapped by a finance bro. But yeah. Solid six out of ten.”

He smiled, barely. “Need to lay low?”

“Very much.”

He shifted, scooting over just enough. You took the invite and plopped down beside him. The swing creaked under the weight, wood warm from the day.

For a second, it was quiet again. Not awkward. Just… easy.

“You’re not in Jersey?” you asked, realizing it out loud.

He glanced at you. “Nah. Couple weeks off.”

“Oh. Right, break. So naturally you chose… this circus.”

He gave a soft shrug. “Was either this or go golfing with my dad’s college buddies. Figured this would have better music and fewer guys named Chad.”

“Debatable,” you muttered.

He smiled at that, a little more real this time.

You let your head fall back against the swing, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Then, maybe two beats later: “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

You held up your hand. “We should compare hands. Y’know. For science.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “For science.”

“Very important study.”

He looked at your hand for a second, then lifted his own and pressed it to yours.

The size difference was ridiculous. Your hand looked like it belonged to a doll.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “It’s like I’m a borrower.”

He huffed a laugh. “You said it, not me.”

“Can you even fit those in gloves? Or do you just wrap them in pillowcases and hope for the best?”

You felt him smile more than saw it, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours.

“Why do you care?” he asked, not unkind.

You thought about that. “I don’t know. You just seem like someone who does everything with quiet giant energy.”

“Quiet giant?”

You nodded, completely serious. “Like, you probably open jars for people without saying anything and then disappear.”

Luke tilted his head. “I mean. Yeah.”

You laughed. “Knew it.”

Then the shouting started.

“COPS!” someone yelled from inside. A door slammed. Another voice screamed, “RUN!”

Luke was on his feet in an instant. “Come on.”

You scrambled up after him, disoriented but trusting. “Wait, my friend—”

“She’s good,” he said, pointing through the window.

You turned just in time to see her half-climbing, half-falling out of the front window with Econ Guy behind her, both looking dazed and deeply satisfied.

You blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

Luke grabbed your hand without thinking. You didn’t mind.

By the time you made it to his car, the party was full-on chaos behind you. He opened your door, waited until you were in, then leaned over to check your seatbelt.

“You’re good?”

You nodded, heart still racing. “Where are we going?”

He just smiled a little and started the engine.

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting in a vinyl booth at a tired-looking diner with flickering lights and a specials board from three months ago. You leaned on the table, chin in your hand.

The diner buzzed with soft fluorescent light and the quiet clink of dishes being cleared in the back. And somehow, even though your shoes were still slightly sticky from someone's spilled seltzer back at the party, you felt more comfortable than you had all night.

You were halfway through a plate of pancakes and working your way through the fries like it was your job.

Luke was watching you with an amused tilt to his mouth.

“You’re really going in on those,” he said, stirring creamer into his coffee with the tiniest plastic stick.

You looked up with syrup-glossed lips. “I didn’t have dinner. I was too busy bedazzling my shirt and hyping my friend up to make out with someone academically unreliable.”

Luke grinned. “Is that Econ Guy?”

You stabbed your pancake with your fork. “Mmhmm. Hope they finish each other’s homework.”

Luke laughed, a quiet, breathy sound, and took a fry from the basket between you.

“Also,” you said, gesturing dramatically with your fork, “I’m like… ten percent tipsy, ninety percent starving. I could eat a table.”

“I feel like I should be concerned about the structural integrity of this place then.”

You gave him a look. “Don't slander Gary's favorite diner.”

He blinked, smile tugging. “Gary?”

“Your dashboard. We named him, remember? Reliable Gary.”

Luke shook his head slowly. “You're something else.”

“You keep saying that,” you said, taking another bite. “Gonna start thinking it’s code for ‘weird.’”

“It’s not,” he said, simple and soft. “I meant it.”

You felt that one in your ribs a little. Warmed by syrup and coffee and whatever that look was he gave you across the table.

You softened into it, chin resting on your hand. “I don’t really do this often.”

“Eat pancakes at 2AM?”

“No,” you laughed. “Hang out with people I barely know. Like… this is the kind of stuff I usually only do with my best friend. Or, like, people I trust not to be creeps.”

Luke leaned back in the booth, arms stretching out along the backrest. “And I passed the creep test?”

You pretended to squint at him. “Jury’s still out. But I did survive a party and a diner run with you, so…”

“I’ll take it.”

You yawned without warning, one of those soft, shoulder-hunched ones you try to hide but never quite can. Your body was catching up to your brain, your eyelids getting heavier by the minute.

Luke caught it.

“You ready to head out?”

You blinked at him. “Yeah. If I stay here any longer, I’ll try to marry the pancake lady.”

He chuckled and slid out of the booth. You followed, hands tucked into his hoodie sleeves now, full and warm and soft around the edges.

The car was quiet, except for the low hum of the road and the occasional soft thud of a crack in the pavement.

You were slumped in the passenger seat now, legs curled up, head tipping forward in slow, sleepy jerks you couldn’t quite control.

Luke glanced over, one hand on the wheel. “Hey,” he said gently. “You’re fighting it.”

You mumbled something that may or may not have been words, head tipping again, this time toward the center console.

“Okay,” he said, pulling over for a second, flashers on. “Hang on.”

You felt his hand—warm and careful—on the side of your neck, guiding your head just enough to rest against the headrest in a more natural angle. His fingers lingered there a second longer than they needed to, like he wasn’t quite sure he should let go yet.

“There,” he said, quiet. “Better.”

“Mmhmm.” You were already drifting, that touch grounding you just enough to let go.

He drove the rest of the way slower than necessary. Kept glancing over. You looked soft in his hoodie, mouth parted just slightly, one hand tucked against your cheek like you were dreaming something good.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he cut the engine and turned to you.

“Hey,” he said, brushing your arm gently. “Sleeping Beauty.”

You groaned. “Already?”

“We’re home.”

You blinked at him, slow and dazed, before giving a sheepish little smile. “My key’s in my back pocket. Sorry.”

Luke blinked, clearly not expecting that, but you just turned and flopped forward so your back was facing him, like it was the most casual request in the world.

He hesitated, then laughed under his breath. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

And with that, he reached—carefully, shyly—into your back pocket. His fingers brushed denim, then skin, and his ears went visibly pink in the streetlight. But he got the key.

“Victory,” he muttered, and you giggled as he helped you out of the car, one arm wrapped around your waist to steady you.

“I owe you fries,” you mumbled as he guided you to your door.

“You already said that.”

“Well, it’s still true.”

You were already drifting again by the time the lock clicked open. Luke guided you inside and over to your couch, helping you sit, then easing you down when it was clear your legs had no further plans for the night.

You blinked up at him sleepily. “You can just leave me here. I’ll evolve into furniture.”

He huffed a soft laugh and grabbed the throw blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over you. Your eyes were half-shut by then.

He looked around, spotted a notebook and pen on your coffee table, and jotted something quickly.

Before he left, he slid the note into your hand, gently curling your fingers around it like it was a secret.

He slid the key out of your door and double-checked the lock. The deadbolt clicked, and Luke lingered for a second, just staring at the handle like he might somehow see through it.

Then he blew out a quiet breath and walked back to his car.

The street was still, the world that weird in-between hush that only happens when it’s too late for late-night and too early for morning. Luke got in, sat for a second behind the wheel, hands resting lightly where they'd been for the last hour.

He smiled.

It snuck up on him—small at first, just tugging the corner of his mouth before it bloomed. He shook his head a little like what the hell just happened? but he didn’t stop smiling.

You were... something.

Tipsy but warm, soft around the edges. Rambling about salmon shorts and pancakes like it was the most important conversation in the world. Touching his hand like that meant something—like it wasn’t just a joke or a bit or a party game. You’d looked at him like you already trusted him.

And that part messed him up a little more than he expected.

Luke leaned back in the seat, resting his head against the headrest. His fingers tapped the wheel.

You’d mumbled something about evolving into furniture and then passed out on your couch like you’d done it before. Not in a sad way—just... safe. Comfortable. You let him make you comfortable.

And sure, he’d written down his number kind of on autopilot, like yeah, this is what people do, but he’d also curled it into your hand like it meant something. Like maybe you’d wake up and smile the way you had when you first saw him on the porch swing.

He started the engine and turned onto the main road, headlights slicing through the early morning dark.

The smile hadn’t left his face.

Not yet.

You woke to soft morning light cutting across the room, couch blanket half-kicked off and your mouth dry.

And something in your hand.

A folded note, written in blocky, slightly crooked handwriting:

Luke :) text me if you remember any of that. or if you want pancakes again.

734-430-8643

Your heart did a weird little loop.

And suddenly, the night before didn’t feel so blurry.

[eyesthatroll]

All in (Rowan’s Version)—

Quinn Hughes x Daphne Channing

Warnings: Really nothing bad, a little suggestive writing, but no explicit scenes!! Some mentions of drinking/being drunk, and a bit of swearing!

Notes: loosely based on the song “All in” by The Army The Navy!! Quinn is not the stepdad, he’s the dad that stepped up (jk… but he is serving father in this). The fic is abt 13k words and is poorly edited, so do not judge!!

Quinn shifted nervously in his chair, glancing around the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant Brock and Bella had chosen for his blind date.

The place had a warm hum to it — soft music, candles flickering, quiet conversations, and the occasional loud pop of champagne bottles as couples around him celebrated their love.

He checked his phone for the third time; whoever his date was was five minutes late, and now he wondered if Brock had set him up for disaster or a pleasant surprise.

"Quinn?" a soft voice asked as he felt a hand tap his shoulder.

He looked up to see her standing there.

Daphne.

She had tight dark curls framing her face and a warm, slightly hesitant smile. Quinn stood immediately, smoothing his dress shirt, and extended his hand.

"That’s me. You must be Daphne." "I am," she said with a little nervous laugh, shaking his hand as she squeezed it very gently. "Sorry, I’m late. My cab was late, and traffic was brutal." "No worries," he said, pulling her chair out for her. "We're in no rush"

They settled in as quickly as they were introduced, the conversation flowing easily as she sipped on a glass of wine to cut the anxiety bubbling in her throat.

A blind date was honestly so out of her comfort zone.

When Bella, her close family friend, approached her and said her boyfriend had a guy he wanted to set her up with, she was very apprehensive.

Relationships had been a gray area for a little over three years, and there was very little that could change that guardness she had built around her life.

Daphne toyed with the stem of her glass, watching the candlelight flicker across the table before she looked up and admired Quinn's awkward gaze. He looked equally as nervous as her but in a composed way, not to mention he was very handsome in an unexplainable way.

"So… Brock tells me you’re the captain of the Canucks?" she asked, her voice light but curious. Quinn chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am! But it's pretty easy stuff when I have great guys in the locker room like Brock." "Still, that's some heavy stuff, and it's probably been your dream since you were a child. I've always admired people who make a living doing what they love."

Quinn looked up from his glass of water to see her shy smile, blush rising up her cheeks as he smiled warm-heartedly

"Appreciate that," Quinn said, smiling. "What about you?" "I’m a teacher. Fourth grade."

"Brave soul,” she noted his nervous tick of speaking in few words as she smiled at the comment. She laughed softly. "Some days more than others."

The conversation unfolded naturally, with stories about odd road trips and classroom shenanigans keeping the mood light.

Quinn found himself relaxing in a way he hadn't in a while, drawn in by the way Daphne’s nose scrunched up when she laughed and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her students.

She was funny, with a dry wit that kept him on his toes, and she had this habit of tucking her hair behind her ear when she got excited about a topic.

Quinn found himself leaning in as if he was on the edge of his seat, genuinely loving each sentence that rolled off of her tongue.

Then, somewhere between their shared distaste for psych professors from their university days and her story about accidentally adopting a cat in her senior year, Daphne hesitated.

The way a uncomfortable look spread across her face made Quinns heart nearly leap out of his chest to try and fix it for her.

"Okay, so..." She took a deep breath, fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. "There’s something I should probably tell you before I allow this to go to far and get either of our hopes up."

Quinn raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" He took a sip of his water, half expecting her to crack a joke.

"I have a son," she said softly, eyes flickering up to meet his as she watched the way his face remained freakishly stoic.

"His name's Logan. He’s almost four. I know that might be... a lot. And I get it if that's a dealbreaker or whatever."

Quinn blinked. "Oh."

Daphne bit her lip as she deflated a little in her seat. "Yeah. Sorry. I should’ve mentioned it earlier, or gotten Bella to tell Brock to give you a heads up, but I just... didn’t know how to bring it up."

He set his cup down and shrugged. "It's honestly really cool, admirable even."

She frowned. "Cool?"

"Yeah. I mean, kids are awesome. Plus, anyone who can juggle parenting and still show up looking this put-together and beautiful as you do right now deserves some serious respect."

Her eyes widened, a laugh escaping her. "You’re either very smooth or very weird." "Why not both?" he teased, grinning.

"What I mean to say is that I’m not… scared off or anything," Quinn continued, his tone softening. "I get that having a kid is a big part of your life, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m really enjoying getting to know you."

Daphne studied him, her brows furrowing as she gave Quinn an analytical eye. "You say that now, but most guys don’t stick around once they realize it’s not just dinner dates and weekend getaways. There’s responsibility. Priorities."

Quinn shrugged. "I get it. Life's messy — everyone’s juggling something. Yours just happens to involve a tiny human who probably thinks you’re a superhero."

That caught her off guard.

She blinked, a soft laugh slipping past her lips. "Superhero might be a stretch. Logan thinks I’m a pretty decent storyteller and a pretty great pancake chef. That’s about as high as I rank."

"Hey, storytelling and pancakes? That’s elite-tier parenting, if you ask me." He grinned, leaning on the table. "Besides, I’m not here expecting anything. I’m just… here. With you. And so far, I’d say that’s a pretty great place to be."

Daphne stared at him for a long moment, her guard softening as her lips twitched into a smile. "You’re really not what I expected." "Good surprise or bad surprise?" Quinn asked, raising an eyebrow. She smiled genuinely as her hand moved to hold his over the table. "Definitely the good kind."

-

The little slapping of feet across the floor caused Daph to stir in her sleep. Her nose scrunched up and her hands ran over her face as she felt the tug of her duvet by little hands. Her son, Logan, pulled gently at the softness of her blanket trying to crawl into his mother's bed.

She rolled over, a tired smile on her face as she saw the mess of curls atop his head. "Good morning baby," she yawned as she leaned down to pick him up and snuggle him to her chest.

her lips pressed a warm kiss to his forehead, inhaling the familiar scent of his oatmeal-scented shampoo. He giggled softly, his tiny hands gripping the fabric of her sleep shirt as he nuzzled into her warmth.

"Morning mama," he said tiredly as he leaned into her frame.

Daph ran her fingers through his wild curls, smoothing them down absentmindedly. “Did you have sweet dreams?” she asked, her voice hushed in the early morning stillness as she swayed gently and held him to her chest. Logan nodded against her skin. “Dreamed about pancakes.” He grinned against her skin before pulling back slightly, his big, sleepy eyes blinking up at her, "with extra syrup.”

Daph chuckled, shifting to sit up against the headboard, still cradling him close. “Oh yeah? Think we should make some?” Logan gasped, his morning drowsiness disappearing in an instant. “Yes! With strawberries?” “And whipped cream,” Daph added with a raised brow, booping his nose as giggles erupted.

His face lit up in excitement, and he clapped his tiny hands. “Best day ever!” Daph laughed, stretching her arms before scooping him up and swinging her legs over the bed. “Alright, chef. Let’s go make some magic in the kitchen.”

Logan wiggled in her arms, full of energy now, and she carried him down the hall, the promise of a cozy morning wrapped in warmth, laughter, and pancakes filling the air.

-

The staffroom buzzed with its usual early morning chaos — coffee machines sputtering, teachers chatting over half-eaten bagels, and the distant sound of kids shrieking on the playground. Daphne sat at the corner table, cradling her mug of tea like a lifeline, when Marissa slid into the seat across from her, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Okay," Marissa said, leaning in dramatically. "Spill. How was the blind date?"

Daphne huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "You’re worse than my mother." "Don’t dodge! Brock's been hyping this guy up for weeks, and I need details. Was he a weirdo? Did he try to mansplain wine pairings?"

"Actually…"

Daphne bit her lip, her face softening into a small smile as she remembered the end of their night. Quinn driving her home. Giving her his number and saying that he would love to see her again if she wanted to. The look in his eyes that screamed he wanted to kiss her, but was respecting her boundaries. He was just so dreamy and so respectful.

"It was really nice."

Marissa gasped. "Wait, really?" "Yeah." Daphne stirred her tea, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. "His name’s Quinn. He’s also on the team. Super laid-back. Funny, too."

Marissa raised an eyebrow. "Okay, okay. Promising. And? Did he freak out when you dropped the Logan bomb?" "That’s the thing." Daphne set her spoon down, her expression turning almost bewildered. "He didn’t freak out. He was just… cool about it. Said kids are awesome and that juggling parenting and showing up to a date looking 'put-together and beautiful' deserved respect."

Marissa clutched her chest dramatically. "Stop. He did not."

"He did." Daphne laughed, shaking her head. "I thought he was joking at first. But he meant it. He just rolled with it like it wasn’t a big deal."

Marissa stared at her for a moment, then slowly broke into a grin. "Okay, I’m officially intrigued. Did you kiss him?" "Marissa!" Daphne nearly choked on her tea. "It was a first date!" "So? First dates can have kisses. Was there a vibe?"

Daphne hesitated, biting back a smile. "Maybe."

Marissa squealed, practically vibrating in her chair. "You have to see him again."

Daphne laughed, feeling the warmth spread through her chest. "Yeah… we already have plans for next time he's in town."

-

As Daphne finished washing Logan's lunch Tupperware, her phone buzzed on the counter. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she picked it up, smiling when she saw Quinn’s name on the screen.

“Hey, you,” she answered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she poured Logan some juice to go with his afternoon snack. “Hey,” Quinn’s voice was warm, smooth. “I was wondering if you’d want to go out again soon. Maybe dinner this weekend?”

Daphne bit her lip, glancing at Logan, who was happily munching on his crackers and cheese, blissfully unaware of the way his mother's face was broken out in a blushing mess. “I’d love to,” she said, “but my babysitter is out of town for a while. Timing’s just tricky right now.”

“Oh.” Quinn hesitated for a second. “What if we did lunch instead? More casual, and you wouldn’t need a sitter.”

Daphne’s stomach twisted slightly.

She liked Quinn—a lot—but she wasn’t sure she was ready for him to meet Logan. That was a big step, and they were still feeling things out, not to mention she'd like to talk to Logan's father about how he felt about it.

“I don’t think I’m there yet,” she admitted, keeping her voice gentle. “I hope that doesn’t sound bad.” “No, not at all,” Quinn assured her quickly. “I get it.”

There was a pause, and then he said, “Mind if I do something?” She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of something?”

“You’ll see.”

With that cryptic answer, he hung up, leaving Daphne staring at her phone, both amused and curious.

A few moments later, Quinn called Brock.

“Dude, what’s up?” Brock answered, the sound of some hockey video playing in the background. “I need a favour,” Quinn said. “A big one.” Brock snorted. “That’s what friends are for. What do you need?”

“I want to take Daphne out again, but her babysitter’s on vacation. She’s not ready for me to meet Logan, which I totally respect. So… think you and Bella could watch him for a couple of hours?”

Brock let out a low laugh, “Man, you’re really into her, huh?” Quinn laughed, a little embarrassed to be admitting it so early. “I really am.”

“Well, lucky for you, Bella’s been saying how much she wants to see Logs. So, yeah, we got you.” “You’re the best,” Quinn said, relieved. Brock chuckled. “I know. I’ll text Daph and set it up.”

Daphne was in the middle of prepping for dinner and then some marking when she got Brock’s message:

Brock: Hey, Bella and I will watch Logan if you wanna go on that date. No excuses now.

She blinked at the screen, then shook her head with a soft laugh. Quinn.

-

Daphne stood in front of the mirror, dabbing a bit of blush onto her cheeks as Bella lounged on her bed, scrolling through her phone. The loud laughter of both Brock and Logan echoed from the living room as they played mini sticks.

“I gotta say, Daph,” Bella mused, a teasing lilt in her voice, “this thing with Quinn? He’s smitten. Like, full-on heart-eyes, willing-to-grovel smitten.”

Daphne shot her a look in the reflection. “Oh, come on. He didn’t grovel.”

Bella snorted. “Oh, but he did. Brock told me everything. Apparently, Quinn called him all serious like, ‘Bro, I need a favor. A big one.’” She dramatically deepened her voice, making Daphne roll her eyes. “Then he launched into this whole thing about how he totally respects that you’re not ready to introduce Logan yet, which—respect, for real—but he really, really wanted to see you again. So Brock, being the hero he is, came straight to me, and we both agreed there was no way we weren’t helping out.”

Daphne set her brush down, turning to face Bella with an amused shake of her head. “You make it sound like he was begging.”

“Oh, he absolutely was.” Bella sat up, crossing her legs. “Brock said he sounded like a lovesick puppy. ‘Come on, man. You have to help me out. I’ll owe you forever. Please, dude.’” She clasped her hands together dramatically. “I mean, it was adorable.”

Daphne groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. “That man has no shame,” she said sarcastically, which was not picked up by Bella. Bella grinned. “Nope. And honestly? I love that for you.”

Daphne sighed, turning back to the mirror, but there was a tiny smile on her lips.

Bella eyed her knowingly. “You like him.” “I like him,” Daphne admitted, smoothing out her top. “It’s just—Logan comes first. Always.”

Bella’s expression softened. “And that’s exactly why Quinn is a good one. He gets that.” She stood, moving beside Daphne and nudging her playfully. “Now, quit stalling and go enjoy your damn date. You’ve got a man willing to beg just to spend time with you. At least let him buy you dinner.”

Daphne laughed, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her purse. “Fine, fine. But if this goes terribly, I’m blaming you.”

Bella smirked. “Deal. But it won’t.

-

Quinn pulled up in front of Daphne’s apartment complex, shifting the car into park as the quiet hum of the engine filled the space between them.

Their second date had been good—better than good, actually.

Conversation had flowed effortlessly, laughter had come easy, and for the first time in a while, Daphne let herself enjoy someone’s company without overthinking it.

Now, as they sat in the dim glow of the streetlight, Quinn turned to her, his gaze warm and unwavering. “I had a great time tonight,” he said, voice low and sincere. Daphne smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Me too.”

For a second, there was only silence, charged and expectant. Then, Quinn leaned in, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was soft at first, hesitant, but quickly deepened as he tilted his head, pulling her closer. It was messy—not perfect or practiced, just real, filled with the kind of urgency that came from wanting something for a long time.

Daphne let herself melt into it for a breath, her fingers curling slightly against his jacket, before reality nudged at her—Logan was inside, Bella and Brock were waiting, and she wasn’t the kind of girl who made out in cars like a teenager.

With a quiet sigh, she pulled away, her lips tingling. “Quinn…” she started, her voice softer than she meant it to be.

He blinked, like he was still catching up, and then let out a small, breathy chuckle. “Yeah, okay. That was—” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

She smiled, biting her lip. “Thank you for tonight.” Quinn’s gaze softened. “Anytime, Daph.”

She hesitated for only a second before leaning in again—not for another deep kiss, but a quick, sweet press of her lips against his bearded cheek. Then, without another word, she slipped out of the car, making her way up to the front door.

Quinn watched her go, shaking his head with a smirk. Yeah, he thought, he was in real deep with this one.

-

It was a few weeks later, and dinner turned into lunches, which later became casual hanging out, which had led to tonight.

Tonight had been so close to something more.

Daphne had felt it—the heat, the way Quinn’s hands skimmed her waist as she pulled him toward her bedroom. His lips were on her neck, her fingers tangled in his post-game dress shirt, a little wrinkled and far too much fabric.

It would have been so easy to let it happen.

Especially as his lips travelled her skin, riding her of her sweater and undershirt as he watched her with the most softest and loving gaze.

But then, somewhere between breaths, she hesitated.

Not because she didn’t want to—God, she wanted to—but because for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel the need to rush into sex.

So instead, she pulled back, her forehead resting against his as she whispered, “Stay the night?” Quinn had blinked at her, breath still heavy. “Yeah?” She nodded, a little nervous, giddy even. “I never get nights alone. Like, ever. And I—I just want to enjoy this. You.”

Quinn’s gaze softened instantly, and with a small smile, he kissed her forehead and then dropped down to kiss her lips. “Then I’m all yours, Daph.”

And just like that, they spent the night tangled together—not in the way they almost had, but in a way that felt just as intimate.

The slow kind of closeness.

His arm wrapped around her waist, her head on his chest, their legs tangled beneath the duvet as they drifted into sleep.

The sun wasn’t even fully up when a loud noise pulled Daphne from sleep. She groaned, disoriented, before the sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand snapped her awake.

She grabbed it, squinting at the screen. James.

Shit.

Sliding out of bed as carefully as she could so she wouldn’t wake Quinn, she answered, voice still groggy. “Hello?”

“Hey, sorry for the early call,” James said, sounding rushed. “I just got called in for a shift and need to drop Logan off early.”

Daphne’s heart stopped.

Logan. James. Here.

Quinn was still in her bed.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing him stretch lazily under the covers. He blinked at her, sleepily murmuring, “Everything okay?”

No. Absolutely not.

“Uh—yeah,” she whispered. “I just—James is bringing Logan over. Now.”

Quinn’s brows lifted slightly, but to his credit, he didn’t panic. Instead, he nodded, pushing himself up. “Alright. Want me to, like… hide in the closet?” Daphne snorted, smacking a hand to her forehead. “That’s not suspicious at all.”

“You got a better idea?”

She did not, and she wasn't about to kick him out.

Ten minutes later, she was at the front door, dressed in a hoodie and pyjama bottoms, trying to act totally normal as James carried a half-asleep Logan inside.

“Sorry for the short notice,” James said, adjusting Logan on his hip. The little boy’s curls were a wild mess, his tiny fists rubbing at his tired eyes. “They’re short-staffed again, and the hospital is having a hard time finding nurses.” “It’s fine,” Daphne assured him, brushing some hair from Logan’s forehead. “I got him.”

James gave her a grateful smile before glancing around at the suit jacket and tie that were draped across her kitchen chair, something shifting in his expression. His brows furrowed slightly. “You alone?”

Before she could even answer, movement behind her made them both turn.

Quinn.

Standing in her hallway. In a pair of loose sweats and a baggy shirt.

Daphne wanted to die.

James’s face was unreadable. Logan, however, perked up instantly. “Mama?” He blinked at Quinn, then turned back to his mom. “Who’s that?”

Quinn, to his credit, gave a small, sheepish smile and lifted a hand. “Uh… hey, buddy.”

Daphne pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh my God.”

James exhaled, then turned to Logan. “That’s Mommy’s friend, bud.”

Logan blinked up at him, then at Quinn. “Oh.” Then, after a moment, he pointed. “You have a beard.” Quinn huffed a small laugh, scratching his jaw. “I, uh… I do.”

Silence.

James looked at Daphne. Daphne looked at James. Quinn stood there, looking very out of place.

And then Logan, completely unfazed, yawned, rested his head against James’s shoulder, and mumbled, “Can I have pancakes?” Daphne let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, shaking her head as she reached for her son. “Yeah, baby. Let’s get you some breakfast.”

James lingered for a second, looking at Quinn once more like he was trying to place exactly where he knew him from, before exhaling and heading for the door. “See you later, Daphne.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, still a little stunned. “See you.”

The second the door shut behind him, she turned to Quinn, who just gave her a lopsided grin.

“So,” he said. “That wasn’t awkward at all.”

Daphne groaned, covering her face. “I hate my life.”

Quinn chuckled, stepping closer and pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Could’ve been worse.” She peeked up at him. “How?” “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Your dad could’ve walked in instead.”

She stared at him.

Then, against all odds, they started laughing.

-

Quinn sat at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee as he watched Daphne move around the kitchen with ease. Logan, now fully awake and much more energetic, sat on the counter, swinging his little legs as his mom flipped a few slices of bacon and pancakes on the stove.

Daphne didn’t even hesitate when Logan asked for more syrup. She poured a tiny bit onto his plate, ruffled his curls, and smiled as he let out a happy little “Thanks, Mama!” before diving face first into his pancakes and strawberries.

Quinn couldn't help but stare.

It wasn’t just that she was just good at being a mom—it was the way she made it look so natural.

The way she somehow balanced making breakfast, answering Logan’s nonstop questions, and keeping the little boy entertained, all while looking effortlessly beautiful in her messy bun and his oversized Canuck’s t-shirt she must have stolen from the floor of her room.

She was so different like this. Not just the woman he flirted with over dinner, or the one who had pulled him into bed last night—this was a different side of her. A version he had never met before.

And he liked it.

A lot.

Later, after breakfast was finished and Logan had played himself into exhaustion, Daphne tucked him into bed for his nap. She came back out into the living room, stretching with a small yawn before flopping onto the couch beside Quinn.

He glanced at her, amused as his hand moved up to run over the skin of her brow bone before pulling her closer. “Tired?”

She shot him a look. “You try keeping up with a four-year-old all day and then talk to me about tired.”

Quinn smirked, wrapping an arm fully around her shoulder and pulling her close. She let out a soft sigh, resting her head against him. They sat there for a moment, comfortable, before he finally broke the silence.

“So…” he started carefully. “You never really told me about you and James.” Daphne stiffened slightly. “What about me and James?” He ran his fingers up and down her arm absentmindedly. “I don’t know. Just… what happened?”

She was quiet for a moment, staring ahead at the window. “We were young,” she said finally. “I got pregnant when I was twenty-one. We tried to make it work, but…” She sighed, shaking her head as she looked up at the man she was lying with.

“James is a good guy. A great dad. But we weren’t in love anymore. And we both knew it.”

Quinn nodded, letting that settle. “Was it messy?”

Daphne gave a small laugh, though there wasn’t much humour in it. “Not as bad as it could’ve been. I mean, yeah, there were hard moments. Arguments. A lot of frustration. But at the end of the day, we both just wanted to do what was best for Logs.”

Quinn watched her carefully. “And you? Are you happy?”

She turned to look at him then, and for a moment, she didn’t answer.

Then, softly, she said, “I think I’m getting there.”

Quinn’s chest ached at that. He lifted a hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “For what it’s worth,” he murmured, “I think you’re doing a hell of a job.” Her breath hitched just slightly, and for the first time all morning, she looked a little unsteady. Like maybe she wasn’t used to hearing that.

Then, without a word, she leaned in and kissed him.

Slow.

Soft.

Like she was finally letting herself believe it.

-

Weeks later, Quinn found him self tucked away in her apartment as she fussed over his injuries, which led to now.

The man woke up to the sound of tiny footsteps scurrying across the floor, followed by a quiet thump as something, rather a someone, climbed onto the bed.

Blinking himself awake, he turned his head and was immediately met with a pair of big, curious eyes staring back at him.

Logan.

The kid was right there, barely inches from his face, perched on the edge of the mattress like a little gremlin.

“You snore,” Logan announced matter-of-factly. Quinn chuckled, running a hand over his face. “Do I?” Logan nodded, curls bouncing. “Like a bear.” “Wow.” Quinn sat up, stretching. “That’s some tough criticism, man.”

Logan shrugged, as if to say I’m just telling the truth. Then, after a beat, he asked, “Are you making me breakfast?”

Quinn blinked slowly. “Wait—am I making you breakfast?”

“Uh-huh.” Logan nodded again, very sure of himself. “Mama always makes me breakfast, but she’s really tired. So you gotta do it.”

Quinn glanced over at Daphne, still asleep, her face buried in the pillow. She hadn’t moved an inch, and honestly, she deserved to sleep in.

He turned back to Logan. “Alright, kid. I guess I’m on duty.” Logan grinned and hopped off the bed. “Come on!”

Quinn quickly realized that cooking for a four-year-old was no joke.

He had attempted pancakes—because how hard could pancakes really be? But somehow, they were coming out as arguably inedible.

The first one had burned, the second was way too runny, and the third looked more like a sad, deflated cake than a pancake.

“Hmm.” Logan frowned, poking at the latest attempt with a very serious expression as they stood there in matching aprons. “That doesn’t look like Mama’s pancakes.” Quinn groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Logan tilted his head, thinking. “Maybe you need more love in it.” Quinn huffed a laugh. “Oh yeah? That's the secret ingredient?” Logan nodded, very sure of himself. “Mama always says love makes everything better.”

Quinn glanced toward the bedroom, his heart tugging a little.

He really liked this kid’s mom.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to get this right for Daph, but also selfishly to win over Logan.

“Alright, Chef Logan,” Quinn said, rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s try this again.”

When Daphne finally emerged from her room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she was immediately hit with the smell of maple syrup and burnt pancake.

She followed the scent into the kitchen, stopping short when she saw the scene before her. Logan sat proudly at the table, munching on a very interesting-looking pancake, while Quinn stood at the stove, flipping another one with a look of deep concentration.

The counter was covered in flour, batter dripped from the bowls, and there were at least three failed pancakes stacked to the side on a paper towel.

She raised an eyebrow at the mess, “What… is happening?”

Quinn turned, spatula in hand. “Morning, sunshine. We made pancakes.”

Logan beamed. “Quinn burned the first ones, but then I told him to use love, and now they’re kinda good.” Daphne stifled a laugh, crossing her arms as she looked at the man who awkwardly stood by the stove. “Oh, did you?”

Quinn exhaled, flipping another pancake onto the plate. “Your kid is a tough critic.” “He’s a pancake connoisseur,” she corrected with a laugh.

Daphne stepped closer, stealing a bite from Logan’s plate. The pancake was oddly shaped, but it tasted… surprisingly decent. She glanced at Quinn. “Not bad.”

Quinn smirked. “See? Love works.”

Daphne rolled her eyes, but there was something warm in her chest as she watched Logan giggle, clearly enjoying the morning. And as Quinn sat down beside them, stealing a piece of Logan’s pancake, she realized she felt oddly at ease.

-

Later that evening, after Quinn had left and the house had settled into a quiet hum, Daphne found herself curled up on the couch with Logan. He was freshly bathed, wrapped up in his dinosaur blanket, and tucked against her side as he lazily played with the hem of her sweater.

For a while, he didn’t say much—just rested against her, sleepy from the long day. But then, in that thoughtful voice of his, he asked,

“Mama?” She hummed, running her fingers gently through his damp curls. “Yeah, baby?”

Logan hesitated for a second, like he was trying to piece the words together in his little mind. Then, carefully, he asked,

“Is Quinn your boyfriend?”

Daphne froze for half a second, her heart stumbling over itself.

Of all the things he could’ve asked.

She swallowed, treading carefully. “Why do you ask, bud?” Logan shifted, still playing with her sweater. “Dunno,” he mumbled. “He was here when I woke up. And he made me pancakes. And you kissed him.”

Daphne felt her face heat up. Great.  Apparently, her four-year-old was more observant than she gave him credit for.

She exhaled softly, choosing her words. “Quinn is… someone I really like,” she admitted. “And he really likes me too.” Logan blinked up at her. “Like love?” Daphne bit her lip, caught off guard. “It’s… a little early for that, babe.”

Logan considered this, nodding sagely like he was thinking very hard about it. Then, after a moment, he asked,

“Do you think he likes me?”

And just like that, Daphne’s heart melted into a puddle.

She brushed a curl from his forehead, kissing it gently. “Oh, baby. Of course he does.” Logan was quiet for a beat, then let out a small hmm, like he was still processing.

Finally, he mumbled, “I think I like him too.”

Daphne smiled, pulling him closer. “Yeah?” Logan yawned, nestling into her side. “Yeah. But his pancakes need work.” Daphne laughed softly, pressing another kiss to his curls. “I’ll make sure to tell him.”

-

Daphne stood near the playground fence, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The crisp air nipped at her cheeks as she watched Logan race across the play structure, his laughter carrying over the distant hum of other kids playing around him.

Beside her, James sighed, shifting his weight. “So… Quinn.”

Daphne tensed but didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Quinn.”

James nodded slowly, watching Logan for a moment before speaking again. “So is he just some guy in your bed, or is he actually something serious?” Daphne turned to glare at him. “Excuse me?”

James met her gaze evenly. “Look, I don’t care who you date, Daphne. But when I walked into your apartment and saw some random dude in sweats standing in your hallway? That was a hell of a way to find out you had someone new in your life.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “It’s not like I planned for that to happen, James. I just—I wasn’t ready to bring it up yet until I knew that he was willing to stick around.”

James scoffed. “You weren’t ready? Daph, Logan woke up to a stranger in the house. That’s not something you ease into.” She crossed her arms even tighter. “It’s not like I introduce him to every guy I date.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Every guy? How many have there been?”

“Oh my God, that’s not the point James!”

James let out a short, dry laugh. “You’re right, it’s not. The point is, if someone’s going to be around our kid, I need to know about it. Not find out by accident.”

Daphne exhaled sharply, staring at the ground. “You do know him, James.” He frowned. “What?”

She finally looked at him again, something challenging in her expression. “Quinn. He’s Quinn Hughes, Brock's friend.”

James froze. Blinked. And then— “You’re kidding.”

Daphne shook her head.

James let out a long breath, running a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. You’re dating a hockey player?” Daphne narrowed her eyes. “Why do you say it like that?” James threw his hands up. “Because, Daph! Do you know how those guys live? Always travelling, always in the spotlight. Hell, does he even have time for you?”

Her jaw clenched. “You don’t know him.”

“I know his type.”

She took a step closer, her voice sharp. “Oh, do you? You, the guy who barely has a personal life because the hospital owns you? You think you have the right to judge someone else’s schedule?” James exhaled hard through his nose. “That’s not the same.” “It is the same.” Daphne’s voice was low, heated. “You work insane hours, James. But Logan still loves you. He doesn’t care that you’re on call half the time. So why is it different for Quinn?”

James opened his mouth and then closed it.

Daphne pressed on. “You don’t get to decide what’s right for me, James. And I would never bring someone around Logan if I wasn’t sure about them.”

James was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Is it serious?” Daphne hesitated. “I don’t know.” James turned to look at her. “Do you want it to be?” She swallowed, her arms loosening from their defensive stance. “...Yeah, I do.”

Something in James’s expression shifted, the fight leaving his shoulders. He sighed again, then rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Okay.” Daphne blinked. “Okay?”

James nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not thrilled about how I found out, but… if you’re serious about this, I’ll back off.” Daphne studied him for a second, surprised that she didn't have to argue more on her behalf. “Really?”

James smirked slightly. “Daph. You’re the mother of my kid. I trust you.”

Her chest tightened, something soft threading through the remaining frustration.

Then, James exhaled and shot her a pointed look. “But if he messes this up, I will kick his ass.” Daphne snorted. “Noted.”

James glanced at Logan, who was now attempting to climb a structure far too big for him. “I gotta head to work. You’re still good to take him over for family dinner on Sunday at Mum’s?” Daphne nodded. “Yeah, we'll be there.”

James hesitated.

Then, a little quieter, he added, “For what it’s worth… I hope it works out.” Daphne blinked at him, caught off guard. James shrugged. “Logan likes him. And you…” He tilted his head. “You look happy.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Yeah. I really am.”

James nodded. “Then that’s what matters.” And with that, he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and walked off, leaving her standing there, feeling lighter than she had in a long time.

-

Daphne had thought she was prepared for anything.

She was a mom, after all—she’d handled sleepless nights, tantrums, potty-training, and even a brief phase where Logan insisted on only eating food that was in liquid form.

She had survived it all.

But this?

This was a whole new level of chaos.

Because somehow, both her four-year-old and her grown boyfriend were down for the count with the flu.

And it was brutal.

It had started with Logan the day before—suddenly burning up, cheeks flushed, his tiny body curled up in her arms as he whined softly, “Mama, I don’t feel good.”

Daphne had immediately gone into full mom mode, taking his temperature, setting up a cozy sick spot on the couch, and making sure he had his favourite stuffed orca, Hank, that Quinn had bought him, which was tucked against his chest.

For the most part, Logan was a pitiful little patient—lots of sniffling, lots of dramatic groans, and the occasional half-asleep mumble of “Mama, am I dying?”

By morning, she was exhausted, running purely on coffee and adrenaline. But Logan was finally resting, tucked into a pile of blankets, cartoons playing softly in the background.

That was when her phone rang.

“Daph…” Quinn’s voice was rough. Scratchy. Miserable. And honestly, a little sexy. She frowned. “Quinn? You okay?” A pause. Then a weak, pitiful, “I think I’m dying.”

Daphne sighed, already rubbing her temple. “Let me guess—fever? Body aches? Can’t get off the couch?” “… Yes.”

“And you’re being dramatic about it?” Another pause. “… Maybe.” Daphne sighed again but with a little laugh, glancing over at Logan, who had managed to fall into a sniffly sleep. “Stay put,” she muttered. “I’m coming over to get you.”

An hour later, Quinn was bundled up on her couch, tucked under the softest blanket she owned, looking pathetic.

“You’re enjoying this,” he grumbled, his voice hoarse as he sipped at the tea she had forced into his hands. Daphne smirked, perching on the arm of the couch. “A little bit.” Quinn pouted, his head lolling back dramatically. “I’m dying, Daph.”

She rolled her eyes, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. “You have a fever. You’re not dying.” “Feels like I am.”

“Tell that to Logan. He’s handling this way better than you are.” Quinn groaned, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “Unfair. He’s, like, a superhero in tiny form.”

Daphne huffed a laugh, then sighed, laying a damp cloth against his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut at the cool relief, and for a moment, he just looked so tired.

“You’re really taking care of me,” he murmured, voice softer now. She shrugged. “You’re one of my boys now.” Quinn’s lips curled into a tiny, sleepy smile. “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

-

Ellen Hughes prided herself on knowing everything there was to know about her sons.

She knew when Quinn was stressed (he rubbed his jaw), when Jack was excited about something (his ears went red), and even when Luke was nervous (he had uncontrollable word vomit). And she definitely knew when they were up to something.

So when she heard whispers—more like gossip from one of the Canuck's trainers she had befriended—about Quinn possibly having a girlfriend… and not just any girlfriend, but one with a child… she was floored.

How in the world had the Hughes #1 Mama's boy kept this from her?

It took exactly ten minutes from the moment she found out to the moment she called him.

Quinn answered on the third ring, his voice groggy. “Mom?” Ellen narrowed her eyes. “Why do you sound half-dead?” “… Because I am half-dead?” Quinn groaned. “I had the flu all week, remember?”

“And who took care of you?”

A long silence. Too long.

“… Mom.”

“Quinn.”

He sighed. “Daphne.”

There it is.

Ellen perked up. “So it’s true?” Quinn groaned again, but this time, it wasn’t sick-related. “Who told you?” “Doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand he couldn’t see. “What matters is that I had to hear about my son’s serious relationship from someone else!” “It’s not—it’s still new,” Quinn said, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Ellen narrowed her eyes again. “New enough that she nursed you back to health?” Another pause. Then, grudgingly, “… Maybe not that new.”

She hummed in satisfaction. “And what’s this I hear about a little boy?”

Quinn exhaled. “Her son. Logan. He’s four.”

Ellen’s heart gave a strange little tug. “Oh.”

“I like them, Mom,” Quinn admitted, his voice softer now. “A lot.”

And just like that, her frustration melted into something warmer.

Because that voice? That wasn’t her son being defensive. That was her son caring.

Maybe even falling.

Ellen smiled, settling back into her chair. “Well, Quinn,” she said lightly, “when do I get to meet them?”

-

James was already suspicious when he saw Quinn’s name pop up on his phone.

They weren’t exactly buddies.

Did they share a couple of friends? Sure. Were they slowly approaching co-parent territory? To some extent. Tolerant of each other? Mostly.

But casual phone calls? Yeah, that was new.

Still, curiosity won out, and he answered.

“Hughes.”

“Hey, man.” Quinn sounded… nervous? Which immediately made James even more suspicious. “What’s up?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Quinn cleared his throat. “So, uh… I was wondering if you’d be cool with coming to a game this weekend with Daphne and Logan, of course.”

James blinked. “Like… one of your games?”

“Yeah. I kinda—” Quinn paused. “Look, I really want Daphne and Logan to come. And my family’s gonna be there—my parents, my brothers—” “The ones playing against you?” James interjected, smirking slightly.

Quinn let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Those guys.”

James could already picture the sibling chirping that was bound to happen.

“So,” Quinn continued. “I just figured it might be less… weird? If you came too, not only for Logan and Daphne to have a familiar face, but because I'd like to show Logan that we get along.”

James frowned slightly. “You want me there?”

“I mean, I’m not saying we gotta sit around and share our deepest secrets or anything, but—” Quinn hesitated. “Look, man. I know I kind of bulldozed into your kid’s life. And I get that it’s gotta be weird for you. But I really care about Daph. And Logan.”

James let out a slow breath, his grip on the phone tightening slightly.

Quinn kept going. “I don’t want to step on your toes, James. I just… I want to be there for them. And I figured maybe this was a good way to, I don’t know, try to be cool with each other.”

James was quiet for a second. He didn’t hate Quinn. And honestly? The guy was making an effort. A real one.

And wasn’t that what mattered?

He sighed. “Fine. But if your brothers absolutely destroy you on the ice, I’m not stopping Logan from cheering for them.”

Quinn groaned. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.”

James smirked. “See you at the game, Hughes.” he paused for a second before a awkward, "and thanks," left his mouth.

-

Daphne had met parents before.

She’d met a lot of parents, actually—on field trip days, at parent-teacher conferences, during kindergarten drop-offs when frazzled moms and dads rushed in.

She was good with parents.

Not to mention, she was a great parent,

But this? This was different.

These weren’t just any parents. These were Quinn’s parents. The people who had raised him, who knew every version of him that had existed before the one she knew now.

And no matter how much she liked Quinn—and God, she liked him an unbelievable amount—there was still that tiny voice in the back of her mind whispering, "What if they think I’m too much? What if they don’t get why he’d want this?"

She exhaled sharply, tugging at the sleeves of her blouse as she sat on the couch, waiting for Quinn to finish getting ready.

Across the room, Logan sat on the floor, completely unbothered, piecing Lego blocks together with all the concentration of a four-year-old who had no idea his mother was spiralling.

Quinn emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, tucking his shirt into his pants as he walked over. “Alright, you two ready to—” He paused mid-sentence, eyes flickering over her face. “What’s wrong?”

Daphne hesitated. Then, reluctantly, she sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just…” She let out a breath, shaking her head. “This is big, Quinn. I know you say they’re great and that they’ll love me and Logan, but I just—” She swallowed. “I don’t want them to look at me and think I’m a mess.”

Quinn’s face softened instantly.

“Daph,” he murmured, stepping closer, his hands settling gently on her arms. “They’re not gonna think that.” “You don’t know that,” she countered, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I mean, I’m young, I have a kid, and you’re—you. I just don’t want them to have the impression that we are some complication.”

Quinn frowned, shaking his head. “Okay, first of all, don’t say that. You and Logan aren’t complications, you’re—” He let out a short breath, squeezing her arms gently. “You’re you, Daph. And that’s what I want. And I promise, my parents? They just wanna meet the girl who’s making me ridiculously happy.”

She exhaled, searching his face. “You sure?” His lips twitched. “Pretty sure.”

Daphne didn’t totally believe him, not yet, but when Logan looked up from his block tower and asked, “Mama, can we go now?” she figured she didn’t have much of a choice. She nodded. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The restaurant wasn’t fancy, but it was nice. The kind of place that felt warm as soon as you stepped in, full of laughter and smelled strongly of Italian food.

Quinn spotted his family first. They were already seated at a round table near the back, and as they approached, Daphne immediately recognized Ellen Hughes not only from the way that she looked exactly like Quinn but the way she lit up as soon as she saw them.

“Oh my God,” Ellen gasped, standing instantly as she beamed at Quinn before turning to Daphne and Logan. “You must be Daphne!” Daphne barely had a second to brace herself before Ellen reached out, pulling her into a warm, motherly hug, smelling faintly of vanilla and fresh linen. And just like that, some of the tension in her chest started to melt. Ellen pulled back with a wide smile. “It is so nice to finally meet you.”

Jim, Quinn’s dad, was more reserved but just as kind, offering a firm handshake and a “He’s talked about you a lot, you know.” Daphne felt herself blush as she glanced at Quinn, who simply shrugged with a grin.

And then there were his brothers.

Jack and Luke, both grinning like they already had jokes lined up, stood next.

“So this is the girl,” Jack teased, shaking her hand. “Gotta say, he’s been suspiciously happy lately, so you must be special.” Daphne let out a small laugh. “I try.”

Then Luke, slightly more subtle but still smirking, nodded toward Logan, who had been quietly taking everything in. “And this little guy must be Logan.” Logan blinked up at him, eyes wide, before nodding. “Uh-huh.” Luke grinned. “Nice to meet you, dude. You like hockey?” Logan perked up slightly. “Yeah.” “Nice. Who’s your favorite player?”

The four-year-old thought very hard about it before shrugging. “Mama likes Quinn.”

Jack let out a loud bark of laughter as Quinn grinned widely at the praise. “Oh, he is my favourite,” Daphne teased as she squeezed Quinn’s cheeks before looking back at Logan. “But you can like whoever you want, Babe.”

Logan took that in, then nodded again, turning back to Luke. “I like Quinn, too.” Quinn, who had been pretending to suffer through Jack’s laughter, immediately softened. “Yeah?”

Logan hummed. “Yeah. And pancakes.”

Ellen, clearly already adoring him, gasped. “You like pancakes? Me too!” Logan perked up. “Really?” “Oh yeah,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “And I bet I make better ones than Quinn.” Logan’s eyes widened. “Probably.”

Quinn groaned. “Oh my God.”

Daphne, who had been watching the whole thing unfold, felt a warmth settle deep in her chest.

This wasn’t forced. It wasn’t awkward like she had feared.

Quinn’s family wasn’t just being nice to her and Logan.

They were welcoming them.

Ellen leaned in slightly as they all settled into their seats. “You doing okay, sweetie?” she asked softly. Daphne blinked at her, slightly caught off guard by the gentle, knowing tone.

And maybe it was just because she was still a little nervous, or maybe because it had been so long since she’d had this—a mother figure just checking in on her, just making sure she was okay—but something inside her cracked, just a little.

She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, nodding. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I am.”

And as she glanced at Quinn, who was currently watching Logan babble excitedly to Luke and Jack, looking more content than she had ever seen him, she realized something else.

She was in love with Quinn Hughes

-

Daphne’s phone buzzed in her pocket just as she was pulling the blanket over Logan’s tiny, sleepy frame.

She glanced at the screen. Quinn.

“Hey,” she murmured into the phone as she stepped quietly into the hallway. “Hey.” His voice was warm, familiar. “Did I wake you?” “No, just got Logan down.” She leaned against the doorframe, absently rubbing her arm.

“How’s the rest of your night?” Quinn sighed. “Good. Parents are settling in, we caught up, just hanging out.”

There was a pause, then, a little softer, “But I kinda wanna see you.” Daphne bit her lip. “Quinn—”

“I know, I know. You think I should stay. But I don’t have to, Daph. They get it, and honestly, they probably wouldn't mind being alone after the long travel day yesterday.”

She hesitated. “You don’t feel bad leaving them?” “Not even a little.” His voice dropped slightly. “I want to be with you.”

Her stomach flipped. There was never a time when he wasn't making her flustered.

She sighed, shaking her head even though he couldn’t see. “Door’s unlocked.”

“Be there in fifteen.”

He quickly snuck into her apartment, careful not to wake Logan, as he found her in the kitchen tidying up. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before she turned around to get a good look at him.

The air between them shifted the moment she maneuvered herself and leaned against the counter.

He looked… so good. A hoodie and sweats, casual, but his eyes were sharp and focused. On her.

“Hey,” she murmured.

Quinn didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her—barefoot, in an old T-shirt and soft pyjama shorts—and his jaw ticked.

Then he closed the distance, slow, but purposeful, fingers brushing over her hip as he leaned in.

“Missed you,” he murmured against her skin, lips grazing the spot just below her ear. Daphne exhaled sharply.

“You saw me like three hours ago.” Quinn huffed a quiet laugh, pressing another kiss, lower this time. “Not the same.”

She didn’t have a response to that. Not when he was touching her like this, kissing her like this—like he had all the time in the world to explore her, to memorize the way she softened under his hands.

Her fingers found the hem of his hoodie, tugging just slightly. Quinn got the message. He pulled back just enough to peel it off, tossing it onto a kitchen chair before his hands were back on her, this time sliding beneath her shirt, fingertips teasing against warm skin.

Daphne sucked in a breath, arching into him before he lifted her up and onto the countertope.

“Quinn.”

He hummed in response, dipping his head to kiss along her collarbone.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him look at her. His pupils were blown, lips slightly parted, breath uneven.

“What?” he asked, voice thick. She just shook her head. “Bedroom.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

And when he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her down the hall, her laughter melted into something much softer, much sweeter, as he whispered against her lips.

“I’ve got you.”

-

Roger's Arena was buzzing.

Kids ran down the aisles with foam fingers and cotton candy, adults sipped beer in branded plastic cups, and the steady rumble of the crowd filled the arena like background music to something much bigger.

Daphne sat with Logan on her lap, his eyes wide as he clutched a homemade sign that said Go Quinn Go! in big, uneven glitter letters covered in stickers. She’d helped him with it that morning. Which was really her watching as he insisted on using every dinosaur sticker they owned.

James was seated beside them, a giant tub of popcorn balanced between his knees, trying to look casual and not out of place at all as a few of the Hughes' family members wagered from the row behind them over which brother was going to score first tonight.

Ellen and Jim Hughes sat two seats over, already completely smitten with Logan, who had announced earlier that Quinn’s mom smelled like cookies and Quinn’s dad had cool sunglasses.

“Is it starting yet?” Logan asked for the third time, bouncing slightly. “Soon, baby,” Daphne murmured, adjusting his beanie. “They’re just warming up.”

“Is Quinn warming up?” “Yep. See the guy skating backwards over there?” She pointed toward the ice. “That’s him.”

Logan squinted. “He’s so fast.” “Yep. That’s his job bud,” James chimed in, his tone teasing just enough to make Daphne roll her eyes—and Logan looks very serious.

“He looks good at this,” Logan announced to everyone, "definitely not a chef.” Beside them, Jim burst out laughing. “I love this kid.”

By the time puck drop came Logan was leaning forward in his seat like it was the most important event of his life. Every time Quinn touched the puck, he gasped like someone had just revealed a magic trick.

When Quinn made an assist in the second period, Logan screamed.

“That was him! That was Quinn! Did you see that?! He passed it, and then—bam!” His little arms waved in all directions.

Ellen clapped gently as she watched the boy with heart eyes, and Jim chuckled. “I think we’ve got ourselves a fan.” “Just wait until he learns about the fights,” James muttered. “It’s over.” Daphne gave him a look. “I think he'll be a bigger fan of the goalie hugs.”

After the game, they made their way through the press of people toward the private family area near the locker room. Logan was practically vibrating.

“Do you think Quinn saw my sign?” he asked, clutching it again. “I bet it was the first thing he saw,” Daphne assured him, her heart full as he grinned.

When Quinn finally came out, still sweaty and slightly flushed, he lit up the second he spotted them. Logan threw his sign to the floor as he sprinted straight for the man. “QUINN!” Quinn crouched just in time to catch him mid-jump. “Hey, buddy! Did you see that—” “I SAW EVERYTHING. I SAW THE ZOOMING AND THE HITTING, AND YOU DID A SLIDE THING, AND A GUY FELL DOWN!”

Everyone laughed. Quinn included.

“Well, glad I impressed my toughest critic,” he said, standing with Logan still clinging to him like a koala.

Then he looked up and met Daphne’s eyes. The chaos of the kid in his arms and his loud teammates greeting their families seemed to blur.

She stepped toward him, arms looping loosely around his waist. “You did so good.” “You made signs.”

“I helped Logan make signs.”

“Still counts,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “You being here means everything.” “We wouldn’t miss it.”

Behind them, James was talking with Quinn’s dad about getting Logan involved in a peewee league, while Ellen sneakily offered Daphne a Tupperware container “for the ride home,” because apparently Quinn forgets to eat if someone doesn't intervene. Jack and Luke had already started plotting revenge for the next Devils vs Canucks game.

The entire thing was chaotic. But oddly warm.

And as Daphne looked around—at her son, grinning with a chubby cheek pressed to Quinn’s shoulder, as the family that had welcomed the two so easily fussed over how tired Logan looked—she felt something settle in her chest.

Acceptance.

-

The wine was good— a little cheap, but chilled just right—and the patio lights strung from Bella’s apartment balcony gave the evening that kind of cozy feeling, the one that helped Daphne feel a little looser, a little more willing to let secrets slip.

They’d been picking at a charcuterie board that Bella definitely overthought, and Daphne was already half a bottle in, legs tucked beneath her as she sank deeper into the cushioned patio chair.

“Soooooo,” Bella said, swirling her glass dramatically. “How’s Quinn?”

Daphne smiled despite herself, cheeks already pink. “I just know you love knowing that the blind date you set me up with accidentally charmed the hell out of me and my kid?”

“Exactly.”

Daphne sighed, leaning back. “He’s… good though. Great, actually. It’s kind of insane.” Bella raised a brow, tilting her head. “Like, scary great?” “Yeah,” Daphne said after a pause. “Like... I keep waiting for the catch. But he’s just there. So sure of himself. So sweet. Like, he actually wants all of it. Me. Logan. The chaos.”

Bella grinned, sipping her wine. “I told you. Hockey boys are either absolute trash or weirdly obsessed knights in shining armour.” “Pretty sure Quinn is a real-life angel.” They both laughed, and then Bella leaned forward, setting her glass down.

“So how’s James doing with all of this?” Daphne hesitated. “It’s been... a little weird. But not in a bad way. We’ve had some moments—some tough conversations—but he’s been decent. Protective, yeah. But he’s trying.”

Bella made a face of annoyance at James’ ways, always a little too willing to get upset before actually thinking about what’s best for Daphne. He's so good to Logan, and seemingly the perfect co-parent, but sometimes, when it comes to life outside of Logan, James had always hated the thought of Daph having a separate life from James and Logan.

“Brock said the boys have a pool going,” she changed the subject with a smile. Daphne blinked. “What kind of pool?” “A betting pool. About you two. Mostly harmless. Like, who meets the kid first, who spends the night, who says the L-word?”

Daphne nearly choked on her sip of wine. “You’re joking.”

“I wish,” Bella said, snorting. “Apparently, Brock won the ‘she keeps a toothbrush for him’ bet. Said it was obvious after that one practice where Quinn had toothpaste on his collar.” “Oh my God,” Daphne groaned, covering her face. “Since when do men notice shit like that?”

“They’re idiots with too much time and way too much locker room banter.” Bella raised a brow. “But...?” Daphne peeked over her fingers. “But what?” “Have you?” “Have I what?”

Bella gave her a look.

Daphne rolled her eyes, face burning. “I haven’t said it.”

“But?” Daphne chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. Then, quietly, “I think I’m in love with him.”

Bella didn’t speak right away. Just watched her, soft-eyed, letting the silence stretch in that comforting way only a best friend could.

Then finally, “Yeah. I figured.”

Daphne huffed out a laugh. “You did?”

“You look at him like he’s some kind of miracle.” Bella smiled, a little crooked. “And I’ve known you since you were six. You don’t do that lightly.” Daphne sighed as she sank deeper into the cushion of her seat, letting the words settle between them, warm and terrifying. “It’s just… I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again. Like real, true, fall-on-your-face kind of love.”

Bella refilled both their glasses and held hers out for a toast, “to falling on your face.” Daphne clinked her glass against it. “And to hoping he’s there to catch me.” Bella smirked. “Oh, he will be. You’ve got half the locker room watching.”

They both cracked up, wine spilling slightly over the rim as they both cringed at the cliche-ness of the moment.

-

It was cold—but the good kind of cold. The kind that bit at your cheeks but made your lungs feel fresh and alive.

The sky was overcast, and the outdoor rink was dusted with new snow.

Which was perfect.

Quinn laced up his skates slowly, sitting on the bench just outside the rink. Beside him, Logan was practically vibrating with excitement, swinging his little legs as he tried (and failed) to sit still while Quinn helped him with his tiny skates.

“You sure you’ve done this before?” Quinn asked, tying the laces tight. Logan nodded so hard his toque nearly slipped off. “With Mama! But I didn’t go fast. I wanna go fast.”

“Oh,” Quinn said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a speed demon, huh?” “I’m like… like the Flash. But on ice.” Quinn laughed. “Alright, Flash. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He stood up first, then reached down and helped Logan to his feet. The kid wobbled immediately, his arms flailing a bit, but Quinn caught him easily, steadying him.

“Whoa,” Logan said, eyes wide. “Okay. Okay, I got this.” “You’re doing great, bud,” Quinn said, guiding him carefully onto the ice.

They took it slow at first. Logan held onto both of Quinn’s hands, feet slipping every couple of steps. But he was determined—his little face scrunched in concentration, brows furrowed like he was on a mission as he watched the way Quinn's skates glided across the ice.

“Look at you,” Quinn grinned. “You’re already better than some of my teammates.”

Logan giggled, clearly proud. “Can I try by myself?” Quinn hesitated. “You sure?” “I got this.”

Quinn let go slowly, keeping close just in case. Logan immediately started to tilt sideways, arms windmilling—but then he caught himself.

Quinn raised his hands in celebration. “Dude! You didn’t fall!”

Logan beamed, triumphant as he reached out for a fist bump from Quinn, “I’m so fast.” “You’re so something,” Quinn chuckled, skating alongside him as the kid did a very cautious shuffle forward.

They made a few slow laps around the rink, with Quinn giving tips, cheering him on, and sometimes just holding his hand when Logan needed a break. At one point, Logan tripped and fell forward—knees hitting the ice—but he sat up laughing.

“I’m okay!” he shouted. “Hockey guys fall all the time, right?” “All the time,” Quinn said, helping him up. “But you bounced back better than most of us do.”

Eventually, they sat on the edge of the rink, Logan leaning against Quinn’s side with flushed cheeks and a red nose, looking very proud of himself.

“Are you having fun?” Quinn asked, brushing a bit of snow off Logan’s toque. Logan nodded. “Best day ever.” Quinn smiled down at him, pride washing over him. “Yeah?” “Yeah. ‘Cause you’re fun. And you’re Mama’s favourite.”

That stopped him.

Quinn’s chest tightened. “She told you that?” “No,” Logan said, very seriously. “But I can tell.”

Quinn couldn’t help it—he laughed, pulled the kid close in a little hug and awkwardly patted him on the head. “Well,” he said softly, “you’re my favourite, too.”

Logan looked up, grinning. “Wanna race again?” “Bring it on, Flash.” They got Logan's helmet back on and headed back for the ice. The sound of Logan’s giggles echoed through the cold air, loud and clear, a sound that stuck with Quinn long after they were done.

-

It started with Quinn’s hand in hers and the soft buzz of country music echoing through the bar, low lighting, pitchers of beer, and a corner booth packed with his teammates and their significant others.

Daphne hadn’t been sure about going out with the entire team and their partners. It wasn’t that they weren’t nice—everyone had been nothing but warm—but it still felt like stepping into his world. One, she hadn’t quite figured out where she fit in yet.

But Quinn had leaned down, kissed her shoulder, and murmured, “Just be you. They’re gonna love you.”

And she believed him because the look of sincerity on his expression showed that he would never lie.

It helped that Brock and Bella were already there, making her feel less like the new girl. Bella handed her a margarita the second she sat down and whispered, “For courage. Don't overthink it, just vibe.”

The drinks flowed. The stories got louder. And somewhere between her second and third rounds, Daphne realized she was actually having fun.

Quinn never left her side, his hand either on her thigh or looped around her waist, his voice dipping into her ear when the music got too loud. At some point, someone challenged him to pool, and he looked at her like Can I? before she nudged him toward the table, laughing.

She was tipsy by then, head feeling spacey, limbs warm, and when he came back, flushed from winning and smug about it, she curled into his side without even thinking. “You’re obnoxiously good at everything,” she muttered against his shoulder.

He grinned, kissing her hair. “You’re drunk.” “I’m barely drunk,” she said, blinking up at him with all the confidence of someone absolutely drunk.

“Daph,” he said, gently, eyes knowing. She blinked. “Oh. Yeah, okay. Maybe a little drunk.”

He chuckled, pulling her closer. “Wanna get out of here?”|She nodded instantly. “Yes. Yes, please. Take me to your chariot, good sir.”

The cab ride back to his place was quiet, her fingers laced with his as she leaned against him. She kept looking at him with this dumb little smile like she couldn’t quite believe he was real.

By the time they were inside, her heels were off and she was giggling at her own text message to Bella (“I’m alive. Quinn is still hot. The bar nachos slapped.”) as he poured her a glass of water.

“Hydrate,” he said, setting it in her hands. “Yes, Dad,” she teased, sitting cross-legged on his couch.

Quinn just shook his head and sat beside her, letting her stretch out her legs and drape them across his lap.

They were quiet for a second. The kind of comfortable quiet that felt like a blanket. She played with the edge of his hoodie, her expression soft.

Then, out of nowhere—totally unprompted and very, very drunk—Daphne looked up at him and said, “I think I love you.” It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a quiet, honest truth that tumbled out of her lips like it had been waiting all night.

Quinn froze.

She didn’t even seem to realize what she’d said, just kept tracing the logo on the shoulder of his hoodie like it wasn’t a big deal. But when she looked up at him again and saw the stunned expression on his face, her eyes widened.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her hands flying to her mouth. “Did I just say that out loud?”

He blinked once. Twice. Then the softest smile spread across his face.

“You did,” he murmured.

Daphne buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I did, but not like that, not right now, oh my God, I’m so—”

“Hey.” Quinn’s hand gently pulled hers away from her face. “It’s okay.” She looked up at him, eyes wide and smiling now. “Is it?”

He nodded, his gaze so full of something that looked a lot like love. “Yeah. Because I love you too.”

She smiled—this big, wobbly, tequila-soaked grin—and launched herself into his arms.

“Good,” she mumbled into his neck. “Because I was really hoping you did.” He held her tight, kissed her temple, and whispered, “I love you like so much.”

The next morning, she’d remember the nachos, the way Quinn looked sexy playing pool, and her very dramatic declaration.

But mostly, she’d remember the beautiful relief of being loved right back.

-

The daycare was tucked into the corner of a quiet street, with all bright murals and tiny toys lined up next to the door. Daphne parked just off the curb, glancing at the clock on the dash before smoothing her hands over her thighs.

She’d done this pick-up a hundred times—but today, with Quinn in the passenger seat, her nerves hummed a little louder.

He was leaning back, calm as ever, scrolling through his phone. But the second the engine turned off, he looked over at her.

“You okay?” She nodded. “Yeah. Just… you know. New territory for you, and that has me freaked out for some reason.” He smiled, that gentle one she loved. “We've got this, it's just pick up. Let’s go get Flash.”

Inside, the daycare buzzed with the usual afternoon energy—tired toddlers, chatting parents, and the scent of crayons and disinfectant lingering in the air. Quinn followed Daphne through the front doors, towering over the sea of small chairs and artwork-covered walls.

They made it to the front desk just as a teacher—Ms. Albright—stepped out with Logan’s coat in hand.

“Oh,” she said, giving a clipped smile. “Daphne. You’re a bit early.” “Just a few minutes,” Daphne replied. “We were nearby.”

“We?”

That’s when Ms. Albright noticed Quinn behind her. Her eyes flicked to him, curious yet slightly guarded, as she expected the "We" to refer to her and James.

Quinn just gave a polite smile. “Hi. I’m Quinn.” Ms. Albright blinked. “And you are…?” “He’s with me,” Daphne said quickly.

“Well.” The teacher’s smile returned, a little tighter this time. “We’ve been meaning to talk. Logan had a little incident earlier—he was playing a bit too roughly with the blocks again. We've spoken before about this.”

Daphne frowned. “You’ve mentioned it once, and it wasn’t really—”

Ms. Albright cut her off, voice growing firmer. “It’s important that we stay proactive, Daphne. Logan’s behaviour has been more... high-energy lately. Some children require a bit more structure, and sometimes that reflects things at home.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Daphne’s cheeks flushed. Her hands clenched at her sides. She opened her mouth—ready to push back—but Quinn stepped forward, his voice steady and calm, but firm.

“With all due respect,” he said, “Logan is four. He’s supposed to have energy. He’s a smart, curious kid who’s adjusting to a lot. That doesn’t mean something’s wrong at home.”

Ms. Albright’s smile faltered. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You did,” Quinn said, still calm. “And while I understand wanting to address behavior early, we’re here to support him. Not shame him for being a kid.”

Daphne blinked, taken aback. She hadn’t expected that—how easily he stepped in, how quickly he backed her without hesitation like he’d done it a thousand times already.

Ms. Albright gave a thin nod. “I see. Well, I’ll get Logan.”

When she disappeared into the playroom, Daphne turned to Quinn. “You really didn’t have to do that.” “Of course I did,” he said softly. “You’ve been handling everything on your own for so long. Doesn’t mean you have to anymore.”

Her throat tightened. But before she could say anything, Logan came barreling out of the room with his backpack half open and a paper crown sliding off his curls.

“Mama!” he shouted, then noticed Quinn. “Quinn!”

Quinn knelt just in time for Logan to run into his arms. “Hey, dude,” Quinn said, scooping him up with ease. “We missed you.” Logan beamed. “I drew a dinosaur today. It has three heads!” Daphne laughed despite herself. “Sounds about right.”

As they walked out together—Logan on Quinn’s hip, talking about snack time and outside recess—Daphne glanced over at him. His hand rested on her back gently, like he didn’t even think about it.

And she realized, in that moment, that he wasn’t just stepping up. He was showing up. Every single time.

-

It was three summers later, and Quinn had pitched the idea of spending the summer in Michigan. The cottage they were staying at wasn’t anything fancy—just an old place Quinn’s parents had rented for years by the lake when they were kids, and now he happened to own and was gonna turn into a fixer-upper. The paint was peeling, the screen door squeaked, and the dock tilted slightly to one side. But it was perfect.

Daphne sat cross-legged on a blanket in the grass, watching Logan build an elaborate fort out of sticks and pinecones a few feet away by the tree line. Quinn was next to her, shoulders touching, arms bare in the warm sun, both of them lazily sipping from their drinks.

It had been a long day—swimming, barbecue, a scraped knee, a meltdown over sunscreen, and then a marshmallow-fueled second wind that somehow kept Logan going until almost nine.

Now the kid was quiet, fully locked into whatever his pinecone kingdom required, and the whole world felt soft and slow.

Quinn bumped her knee gently. “He’s gonna crash so hard tonight.” Daphne smiled, resting her chin on her shoulder to look at him. “You sound very smug about that.” “I earned it. I played five straight rounds of Lake Monster. That deserves a medal.”

She laughed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “You’ve gotten good at this.” “At what?” “All of it,” she said. “Being here. With him. With me.”

He looked at her for a long second. Not teasing. Not trying to be charming. Just… there.

“You make it easy,” he said, voice quiet. She huffed, rolling her eyes affectionately. “That’s a lie.” Quinn smiled. “Okay, yeah. Sometimes it’s chaos. But I mean it.”

They sat in silence for a bit after that, the buzz of insects and the occasional plop of fish breaking the lake’s surface filling the space between them. Logan mumbled quiet songs to himself nearby, completely in his own little world.

And then, Quinn shifted, like he was nervous—barely noticeable, except she knew him now. The way his fingers twitched against his knee. The way he exhaled was a little too carefully.

“What?” she asked.

He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled something out. No box. No big setup. Just his hand, opening slowly to reveal a simple gold ring resting in his palm.

Daphne blinked. “Quinn…”

“I’ve had it for a while,” he said, his voice suddenly a little shaky. “I didn’t want to make a thing out of it, not really. I just—I want to keep doing this. With you. With Logan. Forever.”

She stared at him, completely still.

“I don’t need some huge moment,” he continued. “I just… I want to marry you. If you want that too.”

Her breath caught, her heart thudding somewhere deep in her ribs. Not because she was surprised. But because it felt so them. No grand gestures. Just love, quiet and true.

She leaned in, kissed him once, softly.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I really do.”

Quinn let out a breath that sounded like relief, joy, and everything in between. He slipped the ring onto her finger, slightly crooked, his hands shaking a little, and they both looked down at it like it was the most ordinary, extraordinary thing in the world.

“Hey!” Logan called, looking up from his fort. “What are you guys doing?” Daphne smiled at Quinn, then turned toward her son. “Just talking, baby.” Logan trotted over, brushing grass from his shorts. “You look like you were kissing.” “We were,” Quinn said, unfazed.

Logan made a face. “Ew. Are you getting married?” Daphne blinked at him. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re wearing a ring,” he pointed out. “And you’re always kissing.” She and Quinn exchanged a look, and she could already feel herself laughing, even as she teared up. “Well,” she said, “yeah. We are.” Logan considered this, then nodded solemnly. “Can I wear a suit?” Quinn ruffled his curls. “You can wear whatever you want, buddy.”

And just like that, Logan was back to building his fort, as if nothing had changed.

But for the two of them—Daphne, with her heart in her throat, and Quinn, with his hand in hers—it had.

Just enough.

And it was perfect.

-

-

-

I literally never know how to end fics... So do not judge the time just and proposal :))

[eyesthatroll]

TESTING THE WATERS

✶ right place, right time masterlist ✶

overview: quinn's pre-game ritual with you takes a bit of a turn.

warnings: suggestive content, no smut but it's still spicy, hand worshiping (kinda?), itty bitty oral fixation, etc.

wc: 1.1k

note: yeah I got a little carried away. but i have to express my newly found love for his hands.

Are you coming over soon?” You spoke into the phone, sitting down at the island of your kitchen, leaning over to rest your chin on your forearms. “There’s a plate of pasta waiting for you.”

“Yeah, I’m pulling into your street now.”  Your phone was sitting down on the countertop, his voice making your phone shake a bit. “I’ll be up soon.”

When he hung up, your stomach filled with butterflies at his words. It wasn’t the first time he was coming over. Hell, he probably knew your apartment better than you did at this point. Yet, that initial excitement didn’t die down no matter the amount of times he came into your space.

The relationship between the two of you was still progressing slowly. A few coffee and bookshop dates here and there, you attending the occasional game wearing a hoodie that no one knew was his. But there was no label on it. No other label than friends. And you both were fine with that.

It wasn’t until you heard that familiar knocking pattern on your door that you snapped out of your thoughts. It was a pattern you both had come up with when you were going over to his after a night out at the bar. Four knocks, a pause, then three. You stood up, trying to calm your smile as you twisted the lock, revealing Quinn in his suit. 

His game tonight had completely slipped your mind as if it wasn’t the whole reason he was coming over in the first place. 

“Where’s my food?” 

You huffed, “Not a hi? How are you?”

Quinn laughed, walking past you as you exchanged smiles. As you closed the door, you could hear the familiar sound of paws hitting the wooden floors. 

“Hey, Chilli dog! How are you, sweet girl?” He cooed, leaning down to pet Chilli, messing her fur all over as she licked at his hands. 

You crossed your arms, “Seriously?” He turned around to see your straight face, a toothy grin coming up onto his face as he stood back up and made his way over to you. His arms wrapped around you as reciprocated it, basking in his clean scent. 

He pulled back, keeping his arms gently on your waist. Your breath hitched at the prolonged contact, your eyes looking up to meet his not doing anything to help. Thankfully, before it could get awkward, Chilli came in the space between you guys. You shared a laugh, pulling away from each other.

Walking to your stove, you scooped the pasta on the small plate you had already set out, wanting it to be warm by the time he arrived. Instead of sitting down, Quinn walked over to you, leaning over the counter next to you. You chuckled, grabbing a fork before setting it in front of him. 

“Are you not eating?” He questioned, not even looking at the plate. 

You shook your head softly, “I had some before you got here. Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders, picking up his fork and toying with his food. “I don’t like eating without you. Especially in front of you.” 

Now him FaceTiming you every time he ate made sense. 

“I mean, I can grab some yoghurt if it makes you feel more comfortable?” You offered, already making your way to your fridge to grab a yoghurt cup. 

Quinn turned to look at you, shaking his head rapidly, “No, no. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” It was the partial truth, he didn’t want to force you to do anything. But, he wouldn’t lie and say that his stomach didn’t flutter at your offer.

Grabbing a spoon, you lifted yourself up to sit on the countertop, the back of your thighs getting hit with a cold sensation as your shorts didn’t cover the skin. You peeled back the lid, digging into the vanilla flavoured treat. Quinn stabbed at his food, finally feeling like he could eat comfortably. You couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers gripped the fork, controlling it to get his serving, small pokes of his veins and bones peeking through his pale skin. You basked in each other's silence, the sound of chewing and swallowing filling the space of your kitchen. 

It wasn’t until you spilled a little bit of your yoghurt on your shirt that laughter broke the silence. 

“Did you forget how to eat?” Quinn teased, setting down his fork as he laughed.

You rolled your eyes playfully, your finger coming down to scoop it up and licking it off. Quinn’s mouth fell agape at the sight, shifting on his heels as he tried to control himself. He was getting worked up over the way your tongue casually came out to lick your fingertips, suckling gently to get it all off. 

Amidst his trance, he noticed that some of it still lingered on your face. You hadn’t seemed to notice, which caused his gaze to linger on your lips. When you felt his stare, you looked up, instinctively licking around to try and find what you had missed. “Is there something on my face?”

He nodded, “Yeah,” and before he could think, he was stopping your hand as it came up to wipe at your face. His grip was loose, but tight enough to keep it down. Bringing his right hand up, he slowly wiped his thumb across your lower cheek, gathering the remaining yoghurt. His gaze was focused on your lips, but yours was on his eyes, the way they were set focused on your mouth. Your mouth felt dry as your lips parted slightly, your breath hitching. 

Quinn looked at you, his green eyes now on you. No words were exchanged, only the soft sounds of your breath mixing together. His brain switched off, the consequences being the least of his worries. Neither of you could stop it, the way his thumb came up to your lips, splitting them further open before slipping into the warmth of your mouth. 

Instinctively, your tongue immediately swirled around the digit, sucking softly the way you had your own a few moments ago. The eye contact was never broken, the actions going straight to your core. 

He went to push further, wanting to watch you take his finger deeper. However, his plans were foiled when his phone began to ring, snapping you both out of your daze. Quinn pulled his finger back slowly, bringing that same hand to reach for his phone that rested in his back pocket. 

He simply held it, let it ring, as he kept looking at you. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a look of lust, but rather one of enlightenment. Like he just discovered a brand new side of you. 

And he had, but he wouldn’t find out just yet.

[eyesthatroll]

hi i’m just here to drop in and mention how bad Quinn wants to leave marks on your body. he doesn’t care where or how he just needs to see him on you at all times ya know?

Halloo, love, my lovely moot😚. I’m sorry it took me long. I blame my two braincells. They got distracted. [Also... i totally didnt try to repost this (i did, but it didnt happen...😭 sorry)] Here it is...ummm.... i think i have veered off in a different path. Sorry...🧎🏻‍♀️

CW/TW: 18+ MDNI, Smut or smut(ish), Sloppy kisses and Marking, Slightest bit of choking, Quinn being a love sick fool 🙂‍↔️

Count: 1449 words | Masterlist

One. Two. Three. Hmmm, that’s not right. Quinn swears he left you four marks on your neck…Why the fuck are you bundled up after all the hard work he did?

He could feel his irritation bubble up his throat, but he swallows it down—crossing his arms, eyebrows drawn—as he tracks your movement across the apartment. You’re doing miscellaneous cleaning, dusting here and there, dancing along with whatever music blasting in your headphones.

You look cute, really. Pretty and cozy in your matching sweatpants and your crewneck sweater. The colors are soft and makes your skin glow. The fit is oversized. You demanded that size when you got him to buy it—he bought five sets for you, because you rarely request something. You are even wearing your comfy and grippy socks. Adorable, really. Really—Fuck. What the fuck? Are you covering him—his marks—up? Didn’t you say you love them last night?

Before he could spiral, you finally notice him. Whatever complaints he has disintegrated to nothing. Your smile with the twinkle in your eyes takes his breath away. When you squeal and run towards him, his arms instantly drop, spreading to give in your hug. You smell like fresh laundry. Home. You smell like home. His home.

Quinn melts into your touch, head dipping where your neck and shoulders meet. His eyes dart from one mark after the other. Where is the other one?

 “Quinn, you’re home! How’s your day? How’s practice?” you ramble on, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“All good. I had fun,” he murmurs, slightly parting from you. “How’s yours?”

You happily recount your day—cleaning, work, watching a show, taking a good and satisfying bath. Quinn guesses that this day is for a nonlinear storytelling, which he has no complaints about. He could get lost in your voice, that’s like the soft patters of rain, like the soft breeze in summer, like the rustle of leaves, like soft chirps of birds. Your voice is like every calming tune of nature. Soothing. Nurturing. That’s what you do to his soul.

Mix that with how firmly your arms are wrapped around his torso, hands slipping into his shirt. They smoothen over his muscles, tracing his spine, causing shivers to run down his fucking soul. Oh, the effect you have on him, but that doesn’t appease him as it usually does. Not one bit—fine, maybe just slightly—because where the fuck is it?

While you talk about a grocery list, Quinn carefully rubs your arms and your shoulders. When he thumbs the column of your neck, you instantly pause, shuddering, breaths picking up. You look at him with wide eyes. The blush staining your cheeks deepens. Cute.

Quinn slips his thumb into your collar and tugs. He almost gets distracted with the goosebumps on your skin. Almost. Because there it is. The fourth mark. It’s just hiding under the edge. Still red and purple, the same shade as the other three. Still so beautiful on your skin. So fucking beautiful.

“Quinn?” you call, confusion etched in your face. “Did I lose you?”

Lose him? Never. You will never lose him. You’re stuck with him. He will chase you no matter where you go, stand beside you, hold your hands every step of the way.

You know that, but you’re still pouting. As second ticks, your confusion turns into annoyance. Your eyebrows furrow. You’re such a brat sometimes. It makes him want to kiss you, so he does. Your arms hook over his nape. The way your lips instantly part sends blood rushing down his groin. You’re always so eager, parting your thighs for his leg to step between.

“You ignored me,” you murmur, nipping at his lip. “You can’t ignore me.”

Fuck. That feels good.

“Not ignoring you. I heard everything you said,” Quinn whispers back in between kisses. “You know that, brat.”

He feels your smile, hears your giggle. He’s so fucked. Even that turns him on. With how your eyes shine, you know you had him in a chokehold. Well, he can have you in a chokehold too. Literally. So, he gives your neck a squeeze. A small whimper comes out your lips.

“Quinn.”

Your name spills out from his lips as a response.

You moan like he’s already fucking you, grinding your clothed cunt over his thigh. He pushes it up, letting you take all the friction you want.

When he goes for another kiss, your lips are already parted, tongue out, waiting for his. You beautiful siren. Quinn can’t hold in his growl as he meets it.

The kiss is sloppy, messy, and hungry. Your spits mixing. Your tongues lashing. Your teeth bumping and nipping each other’s lips. So different from the first one just a while ago. So different, yet utterly the same—full of love, lust, and devotion. So fucking good.

Quinn grinds his hard-on against you, raising his thigh to help you chase your high, but he stops. Not yet. You can’t come just yet. Your whines fill his ears as he parts from you. Tears threaten to spill as you try, try, and fucking try to get him to kiss you again. To get him to let you ride his thigh again. To get him to fuck himself on you.

You have to wait.

“Maybe,” he mutters against your lips, almost laughing when your tongue darts out to gaud him for another kiss. Little seductress. Quinn impatiently tugs on your sweatshirt. “Maybe you should get rid of this, yeah?”

He nearly preens when you nod—desperately and utterly wrecked. His hands shake as he helps you pull it off.

Fuck. You’re just wearing an almost-sheer crop top underneath. Your nipples are already taut, begging for him to touch, to kiss, to suck. Your low neckline showcases your beautiful skin littered with different shades of kiss marks. Some are old. Some are new. All his.

Yet. Not. Enough.

Not when there are still lots of blank spaces of skin to mark. Not when many of them are already fading. Not when you can still hide them. He doubts it will ever be enough. He just needs him on you.

His kiss marks.

Different from cum and spit which you—or he, depending on your mood—wash away.

Different from the occasional fingerprint bruises he leaves on your hips and thighs from holding you so tightly as he fucked you until you couldn’t stop cumming, until he’s left with watery cum or with nothing because your sweet pussy already sucked him dry.

Different because it shows the whole world how he worshipped you, your skin, your being.

Different but they always come one after another. He can’t have you all marked up with your pussy unsatisfied, can he? No. That’s not possible. An offence that he would rather die than commit.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes, grazing his knuckles over your ribs. His other hand tenderly holds our hips, keeping them pressed against his, not letting you do anything else. “So pretty.”

He nearly chokes on those words. He relishes the feel of your hands on his shoulders, fingers casually tugging the tips of his hair—a demand for him to stop fucking around.

Well, can you blame him for taking his time? He just loves you so much.

Then, your little tugs turn more desperate, fingers wrapping around his locks. You tug on his hair like you want to rip it off, but you would ease and scratch his scalp effectively seducing him.

But first, he needs to remedy his problem. He grips your arms, holding them against the wall, as he partakes on your skin. The way you surrender—when he starts sucking and adding marks on your neck, even craning it to give him more access—almost made him fall to his knees. Oh, he is essentially on his knees, because you are his love, his law, his Goddess. He is always kneeling for you. His existence is nothing without you now. He can only beg that you always be with him—of course, he will ensure that.

But he can’t be on his knees right now. How can he reach your neck then? How can he hold you up when you are melting with every suck and lick and kiss then?

Later, he can be on his knees. Later, when he needs to mark up your belly, your hips, your thighs, the creases between them that leads to your pussy, and your beautiful fucking ass. Later.

Right now, he needs to mark up your neck to show everyone—honestly, just him, fuck everyone else—that you are his and his alone.

[eyesthatroll]

Thinking about Quinn losing his shit after you surprise him with a tattoo of his number on your hip

Hello, lovely… I tried, of course. Let me preface this, let’s imagine the tattoo healed for exactly 2 weeks (google says: the minimum healing time of the (surface) skin is about 2-4 weeks, deeper layers heal for approx. 3-4 months)...so yes. What i wanna say is: Be safe. Hope you enjoy 😌

Breakfast & Tattoos

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Unprotected sex (use protection, silly), Tattoo healing inaccuracy (let it heal pls), Quinn being a literal Horny one

Count: 3544 words | Masterlist

You have that grin. A silly and mischievous grin. Quinn cautiously takes a sip of tea you brewed for him—you might’ve put something in it—but it’s just tea.

He greets you, receiving an immediate response. The grin never wavers even as he cooks you two breakfast. You’re…suspicious. Pretty with your comfy pajama shorts and—his—hoodie but suspicious.

He tries to let you be. Maybe you’ll drop it. Maybe you’ll just outright tease him for his bedhead, because his waves are all over the place from sleeping like dead after a two-week road trip. Maybe you just want to tell him something silly. Maybe. You always tend to do those things. He likes that.

He wants to ask, but you move to the sofa with your iPad, humming a tune. You’re on your back with your legs up an arm rest, feet covered with fluffy socks with strawberries. Still, you throw glances at him, grinning whenever he meets your gaze. He hears the upbeat sound of a game. You definitely found another game. That must be it. You love your games especially on that specific iPad—that was his, now yours—with those stickers of him.

Stickers. They’re cute, but he can’t help the blush on his face whenever he sees them. You’ve never stopped buying stickers from Etsy or from artists on different social media. Of him. It doesn’t matter if it’s memes or little cute cartoons. It’s just him. He knows your little hoarding box where you put your spares which also got their own spares—spare of a spare, you describe them.

It’s adorable but the way he looks so haunted in some of them... He can’t help it. It’s his face.

It’s funny and a bit embarrassing—in a good way

But he never feels bad about it. Not when you cherish every sticker. Not when you are so giddy and filled with excitement every time you buy one. Not when he catches you just gazing at them before hugging it so tightly.

Quinn has to turn away. His cheeks are burning. You make him feel good even through cute little stickers.

Sighing, Quinn finishes up with breakfast. He takes the plates to the coffee table, jumping when you suddenly sit up. You give him a fat smooch on the cheek before you mutter about getting him more tea and your coffee. But, fuck, his cheek burns from your touch. The kiss is soft and quick, but it seeps down to his bones, down to his… It’s way too early to be horny.

Quinn shakes his head, trying his best to clear it. However, he catches your shorts glide up your thighs when you bend over to get something from the lower cabinets. Oh, he’s fucked. It’s not helping how he notices your lace panties imprinting through your shorts.

Somebody, help him.

He looks away, counting down from ten to one, up from one to ten. He’s hard. It’s fucking eight in the morning. What the fuck is wrong with him? He closes his eyes for a second, thinking about hockey, practice, and literally anything else. He fails. His mind keeps showing him the image your ass, grinding against him as he fucked you—

“I think I want some orange juice right now,” he forces out, planting one foot up to hide his erection. He needs something to cool him down.

“mm’kay!” Your sweet voice just made him painfully harder.

“Thanks,” he coughs out. “Maybe a couple of ice?”

“Anything for my Quinny,” you say in a singsong voice, then you start humming a tune, moving your hips with it.

Fuck.

Quinn might need to lock himself in the bathroom at this point. You’re not letting him catch a break. How can he not get turned on after not having his fill of you for two weeks? He can see the jiggle of your ass. He can see your pebbled nipples through your thin and cropped shirt, because you just got rid of your hoodie. Why did you get rid of it? The air conditioning is literally on.

Thank fuck he’s wearing his boxer and his black sweatpants. There would be a dark patch there, because he’s leaking pre-cum. He might even come right there if you don’t stop—

“You want the one with pulp?” you ask, weight in one leg, while holding two orange juice cartons.

“Any,” he barely says, catching a glimpse of something peeking out the waistband of your shorts—what exactly is it, he doesn’t know—but you quickly turn away, bending over again which distracts him. “You slept good when I wasn’t here?” Quin pathetically asks, trying to shake away his hard-on away by pure will—it’s not working.

“Yep,” you gleefully say, finally finishing your instant coffee.

Quinn makes a mental note to make your usual brewed coffee later. He can’t just let you with a cup of instant coffee throughout the day. That’s not okay. His sweet girl deserves the best after all.

Well, after he cools the fuck down.

He settles on the floor, snatching the fleece blanket from the couch to cover himself. He swallows a groan when you slide into the same blanket, leaning against him. Your heat only seeps down his cock more than his shoulder. You are killing him.

He stiffly drinks his juice, shuddering when you kiss his cheek again. He almost doesn’t kiss your cheek too, because he’s a hair away from losing control. But he still does. He gives your cheek a peck. He wishes to kiss you deeper, bend you over the coffee table and just fuck you. He knows you’ll agree if he asks. He knows you’ll let him have his way with you.

He knows.

But he hears your tummy rumble.

He can’t fuck you when you’re hungry. You’ll need energy. Besides, it’s fucking 8AM. He’s so close to punching himself as a reprimand. No one should be this horny this early. That sounds hypocritic, because he remembers several times where he waited for you to wake up so he could fuck you sideways, kissing you through your just-woken-up haze.

Someone needs to bash his head until he gets amnesia.

He’s digging himself a deeper grave. Seriously.

Quinn focuses on breakfast. He loves breakfast with you. He loves it when your weight is partially on him. When you take sips of your coffee, urging him to drink his own beverage. When you talk about what you’ll be doing for work or for your day offs.  When you snatch some of his eggs and replace with potatoes or the other way around, because wanting more of one depends on the day. Today, you are doing the latter. All while, you grin at him with so many things brewing in your eyes.

He finally says, when you two are almost done with breakfast, “Okay, you are acting suspicious.” He narrows his eyes just a tad. “What are you planning?”

You turn and hug him from his side.

Quinn expertly holds you without you getting on his cock. It’s so hard. Especially when you shimmy to get more comfortable over his thigh. He almost starts pleading for you to move and get off him, because you’re so near.

“I have a surprise for you.”

A surprise? He blinks, repeating the word over and over in his head. For him? You have a surprise for him? Excitement courses through his body, temporarily distracting him from his aching member. He likes your gifts. He feels special whenever you give him something. It doesn’t matter what it is. Cookies, shirts, chocolates, a piece of candy. Even if it’s a kiss. Especially if it is. Speaking of a kiss, he wants to kiss you right now.

And he’s back to being a horny fucker.

He can’t help it. Your lips look so delicious, so damn kissable. When you run your tongue over your lower lip, biting it after, he’s done. He kisses you. Languidly. Unhurried in any way. The best thing about kissing you is you kissing back with the same intensity. When he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding past your lips, you are ready for him. You taste like your coffee and it’s perfect.

He missed this while he was away. He doesn’t know how he survived last night with a simple kiss to your forehead. He’s a fucking idiot. He missed out. Not that kissing your forehead is less than your kiss. No. Never. Just kissing your skin makes his heart ache. Just feeling your warmth is enough.

However, kissing your lips while breathing in your exhales, your moans, and your groans, that’s one way to live. If only he can exist with your air. If he can only kiss you every second of his life. If only.

When he parts from you, he feels your chasing lips as his. You two want so much more than a kiss. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Still, he must know what your surprise is. He needs it.

“A surprise, huh?” he murmurs, getting distracted by the flush on your cheeks. Wow. Just…wow. “Surprise for what?”

“I don’t need a reason to surprise my boyfriend.” Your nose scrunches, clearly and teasingly dissatisfied with his stupid question.

He can’t help but grab your cheeks, chuckling when you pout for good measure. When he caresses his thumbs over your skin, it makes you relax further into him. Your lips are red from the kiss. So plump. So wet from each other’s saliva. If he kisses you again, right now, he might end up just coming in his pants. Later. In a bit.

He coaxes, “What is it?”

You’ve hypnotized him when you drag your nail over his jaw and kiss along it. He can only cling to your waist. A whine left his lips when you let go. Where the fuck are you going? You can’t just leave him—

“Close your eyes,” you say, putting a halt to his thoughts. There’s that devilish gleam again, yet you add, “Please?”

You don’t need to say please. Quinn closes his eyes, immediately hearing the clatter of dishes and mugs being taken away. His hands curl into fists, turning irritated. You don’t need to clean up for him. He can do it, but he keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to betray your wishes. You are surprising him. He’ll be an idiot if he tries to sour the mood. But he dislikes it. If you’re going to do the dishes, he’ll do it with you. He doesn’t like not doing things with you, especially when it’s the regular season. He’s always away. It’s exhausting but you make it better.

One moment he’s horny. The next he’s acting pathetic.

“You’re overthinking, Quinn.” Your gentle voice hums, easing his troubled soul.

He feels and hears you sit down in front of him. On the coffee table. He fucking shivers when your feet brush the outside of his thighs. No blanket can mask your warmth, your touch. He can feel your eyes running all over him. His face. His neck. His hair. His chest. His cock. He really, really, really might fucking come.

He can hear your shaky inhale. You finally notice. Your voice turns higher, “Come closer.”

He does it. It’s more of moving the low table rather than scooting closer. Oh, the tiny squeak that you let out is adorable. You always forget that he’s strong. You’ve admitted that to him, that he looks small on ice, that he’s cute. He couldn’t blame you. He is just 5-foot-10 around people who are 6-feet and taller. You told him he looked like he wouldn’t be able to lift you. So, Quinn learned to remind you that he can lift you and more.

Now, his mind pesters with image of you against the wall, legs around his waist while he fucks you hard. That’s his favorite way to prove it—Can he fucking stop? Seriously?

He feels your touch over his shoulders, thumb rubbing into his muscles, up his neck, up his jaw. Soon, you have your forehead against his. Quinn’s trying to feel the table any clues about your surprise. So far, he hasn’t found any. He’s so curious. Just what is it?

“Open your eyes for me, handsome.”

Quinn does. He instantly gets mesmerized by your eyes, the eyelashes delicately framing them, your blinks. You’re just beautiful. He won’t have any complaints if this is your surprise. A simple eye-to-eye contact minute with you. Now that’s an amazing gift. Because now, he sees the details of your eyes—the darker and lighter specks of your color and the impossibly wide pupils.

“I love it,” he says with satisfaction.

You laugh, blushing so hard. “You’re silly.” You kiss the tip of his nose, taking his hands to plant it around your waist. “Look down…”

Again, he does. He gazes at every inch of you like he hasn’t. He can’t help but feel your breasts, thumb swirling over your nipples that were begging to be seen and touched and freed from your shirt. After hearing you moan and making your back arch into his touch, he moves on, smirking when you grumble about your need. Later.

He teases your skin, your navel. He’s so lost seeing how you tremble, hips slightly moving and trying to create friction. He bet you’re soaking through your pretty panties—

Quinn stills the moment he catches something on your skin. On your hipbone. What the fuck. What the fuck is that?

His heart hammers against his chest as he hooks a thumb into your shorts and tugs down.

Holy shit.

No matter how much he blinks it doesn’t change.

A tattoo. A fucking tattoo on your left hip.

‘QH43’, it says.

Quinn is literally felt his stomach flutter with fucking butterflies, thumb subbing over it, trying to see if it’s temporary, but it doesn’t have a shine nor does it crack.

He should be worried. It must’ve fucking hurt. It’s over a bone. He should shake you and ask if you got caught up in a dare. He should be livid you kept this from him. Tattoos are big decisions. You always confide in him for big decisions. You didn’t have this when he left for the road trip. It looks healed. He should’ve been with you and helped you take care of it. Damn it.

Yet, the more he looks at it, the more desire courses through his veins. It melts his worries.

It’s just ink in your skin. Ink in your blood. His fucking initials and numbers on you. Permanently. Forever.

QH43. Just four characters in a normal script. So simple yet it’s enough to get him all shaken up.

“Why?” He asks, taking a hand into his cock. He looks up to your eyes, except you aren’t looking at him. You’re staring at what he’s doing with a blush on your face like you haven’t seen him jerk off, haven’t seen his dick in your pussy. You’re cute.

“Because I want it.”

“It’s bad to have your boyfriend’s name tattooed on your person.” Quinn wants to smack himself for saying that, because he likes it.

“Good thing it’s his number.” You crossed your arms, smirking and unfazed. “Besides, my boyfriend will never leave me. He promised me all the time.”

“Yes. I will never leave you.” He nods, moaning when you put a hand over his cheek. “’m so turned on.”

“I can see that.” Your nails scratch over his jaw again.

He’s losing it. “Did it hurt?”

“It stung but not too much. Want help?”

Quinn shakes his head. He needs an initial relief. His hand will do. For now. He can’t help but preen as you snatch away the blanket. Sweat starts to bead on his skin as he nudges his pants down, tightly gripping and working his cock. Fuck.

“Wanna cum on it?” You ask, your voice shaking as you pant. You lean back, planting your hands on the table, spreading your thighs wide, showing him the wet patch over your thin shorts. You’re evil for that.

Quinn doesn’t know he can get any harder, but he does. Especially when he can basically smell you, taste you through it. He missed this so much. An ache forms in his chest for missing out, for not being with you.

“Is that safe?” Quinn moans, swiping a thumb over his slit, shivering as his pre-cum dribbles down his length. Totally forgetting how he was rubbing it a minute ago, he gasps, “Don’t want it to hurt.”

“It’s healed,” you reassure. “Ugh, I hate my panties. They’re so wet.”

See, you’re really complaining. The annoyance is clear on your face, but it’s cute as fuck. You shimmy your shorts and panties down, shivering when your arousal creates a string from the lace to your pussy. You still sit at the table, waiting for him to come on you.

“You’re killing me, my Love.” Quinn crawls up to his knees. “All wet for me?”

“Yeah.” Then you slide one hand over your pussy, parting it for him, making him see you quivering hole. “You really like my tattoo?”

Quinn can only nod. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s panting as he chases his relief. The way your pussy drip is getting to his head. Fuck, why is he still jerking off when your pussy is right there? He scoots closer, sliding his cock along your pussy. Both of you groan. You feel so good and he’s not even inside.

“Quinn,” you gulp, hands coming up his shoulder. “Maybe. You can jerk off later? I’m right here. I need you, handsome.”

He feels your pain and he feels the same. He presses his dick in your entrance. He warns, “I’m going to come soon.”

“Yes, please.”

Something snaps.

It’s his control.

You really know how to make him lose it. Those two fucking words. It might as well be a prophecy. He will listen and make it happen rather than wait for it to come true.

One smooth movement, he’s inside. His eyes nearly roll up as your pussy squeezes around him, seemingly determined to milk his cum out. By some miracle, he doesn’t come right away. He doesn’t it matters he did. He fucks you with urgency.

You feel divine. Your pussy. Your heated skin. Your arms that slot over his shoulders, urging him to fuck you faster. Your long nails dragging red stripes down his nape and back. Pain and pleasure sears down his soul.

“Quinn,” you call, tugging at his hair.

He moans your name like a prayer just for you. For his Love eternal. Fuck, he deeply loves you so much that it. More than anything in this world. You are the light of his life. Light, not a flame that would burn him. A light makes everything clear and visible. He’ll never get lost with you by his side. Lost in you, now, that’s a different topic.

He catches sight of a sweat dripping down from your temple, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, to your collarbones. He’s there, licking it up from its destination and up your jaw. Fuck, your taste—the saltiness, your scent on his tongue—is alluring.

Your moans mix with his, drowning out the buzz of the air-conditioning, the slight creaking of the coffee table, the ringing of his fucking phone. Who the fuck is calling him this early in the morning? It doesn’t matter. Not important right now. No.

Your hands cling to his arms, nails digging deep crescents into his skin. When his thumb circles your clit, he feels your pussy walls contract and pulse, making him come deep inside you. One spurt. Two. Three. Then he pulls out, so he spills right over your tattoo. You both pant, watching his cum make a mess on your skin, watching the cum dripping down your used pussy.

Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing him fucking dry, making sure every drop is on your skin, your hips, and your thighs. He can’t help but gasp, forehead resting against yours.

He can’t believe he got you to come before him when he was so close to the edge.

So happy that you did.

So fucking ecstatic that he starts rubbing his cum into your skin, swiping its thickness into your damn tattoo, making sure it’s thoroughly coated. This is what you wanted. He also fucking wants it. His other hand travels to your pussy to push his cum back in. Your thighs quiver, shaking. Your moans and whines are loud and clear in his ears.

Fuck, he’s still so hard.

And you know it. How can you not? You’re holding him. It’s so evident that he’s ready for more.

You meet his eyes as you pant. Your lips are so red from being bitten. Quinn reaches up, taking his pushing his thumb slicked with his cum in your lips. When you immediately lick and suck on it, he can’t stop himself from grinding on your pussy. You’re just as greedy as him.

He loves that and he needs to fuck you again.

“Another?” he pleads.

“Yes,” you murmur, kissing his thumb. “Please.”

You don’t need to say anything else.

[eyesthatroll]

Tangled in You | Luke Hughes

Pairing; Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Fingering, unprotected sex, cursing, overuse of the words 'pleasure' and 'sensation' probably, edited once.

Summary; Lazy morning sex with Lukey.

Word Count; 2.3k

Author’s note; I've received many requests for Luke smut, so hopefully you guys enjoy this (: Slow morning sex might be the hottest thing ever, honestly. Also the title is kind of random, I couldn't think of anything 😄 -Honey

Your eyes flutter open, the remnants of sleep still heavy on your lashes, as the familiar body behind you shifts. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, and a quiet rustle of sheets stirs in the stillness of the room. You instinctively snuggle deeper into the blankets, letting out a soft, sleepy grunt, willing the morning to wait just a little longer.

A moment later, you feel him—the solid presence of Luke moving closer, his chest pressed against your back, his legs tangling lazily with yours beneath the comforter. His breathing is slow, brushing warmly over the nape of your neck, sending a soft shiver down your spine. Then, the gentle pressure of his lips follows, trailing feather-light kisses from your shoulder to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"Luke…" you murmur, voice thick with sleep, though you make no effort to stop him. The sound of his name on your lips is soft, almost an exhale, as if you’re caught somewhere between the dream and the waking world.

He hums in response, a deep, contented sound vibrating against your skin. "Morning, baby," he whispers, his voice low and rough, the kind of rasp that only comes from the first moments of waking.

His hand slips beneath the covers, searching for the warmth of your skin. You feel his fingers glide under the hem of your nightshirt, tracing the curve of your waist. His palm presses against your bare skin, grounding you in the moment.

For a few heartbeats, you both lie there, wrapped in the quiet, the softness of the early morning cocooning you in its embrace. The room is bathed in the pale, silvery light of dawn, and outside, the world is still—just the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hum of life stirring to greet the day. But here, in this bed, it feels like time has slowed, like the day belongs only to the two of you.

Luke shifts behind you, his body molding to yours, and the movement draws your attention to the unmistakable pressure against the small of your back. The feeling of him, hard and insistent, pulses through the thin fabric of your clothes, and you realize he’s already awake in more ways than one. He lets out a low, almost involuntary groan, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your skin. His breath brushes your ear, warm and thick with unspoken need.

One of his hands drifts upward, slipping under your shirt with a lazy familiarity, cupping the soft curve of your breast. The weight of his palm is heavy and reassuring, but the gentle squeeze that follows sends a ripple of pleasure through you, igniting something deeper. Your breath hitches, a small, uncontrollable sound that seems to spark something in him. Almost without thinking, you shift closer, pressing yourself more fully against him, your body answering his touch before your mind can catch up.

His fingers find your nipple, pinching lightly, rolling it between the pads of his thumb and index finger in slow, deliberate motions. A soft gasp escapes your lips, the sensation sharp yet teasing, and for a moment, your entire world narrows to the exquisite point of contact. He releases it with a gentle tug, his breath catching in your ear, and then his hand slides down, gliding over your ribs and waist with practiced ease, as though he’s relearning every curve of you this early morning.

His fingers reach the band of your panties, playing with the fabric for a moment before hooking underneath it. His breath is hot and ragged now, his voice little more than a rasp. "Can I?" he murmurs, the question hovering between you like a promise and a plea.

You nod, unable to find words, but the sound that escapes you—a soft, breathy hum—is all the answer he needs. It’s the smallest permission, but for him, it’s everything. His fingers move with purpose now, pushing your panties aside with a smooth motion, the fabric slipping down just enough to grant him access.

His hand dips lower, and the first touch of his fingers against your clit is delicate, testing, as if he’s savoring the moment as much as you are. The feel of him against such a sensitive spot makes your breath falter, a slow, shuddering exhale that fills the quiet room. He circles your clit gently, teasing you, drawing out the tension with slow, intentional strokes. Every nerve in your body seems to hum in response, the sensation both soothing and electric, like a rising tide of pleasure pulling you under.

Then, without warning, he slides a finger inside you, and the sudden fullness makes you gasp, your body tensing at the unexpected rush of heat. Your legs instinctively clench around his hand, trapping him there, not allowing him to let him go. He chuckles softly into your ear, a low, knowing sound, as he enjoys every tiny reaction you give him.

He moves his finger with unhurried precision, curling it inside you, pressing against a spot that makes you arch ever so slightly into him. The sensation is maddening, the slow build-up of pleasure pushing you toward the edge, but still, he doesn’t rush.

The moment his finger slips out of you, it's abrupt—too soon, too quick—and a sharp, needy whine escapes your lips before you can stop it. The sound hangs in the air, but Luke only chuckles softly in response. "Needy girl, hm?" His voice is thick, teasing, with a thread of hunger woven through it.

You don’t respond—not with words. Instead, you shift your hips back, aching for him to fill the sudden emptiness he’s left behind. His answer comes not with words either, but with the action of his hips lifting to pull his boxers down just enough to expose his cock. He gives himself a few languid strokes before you feel it—the thick, hard length of him pressing against you, nudging at your entrance.

"Fuck..." he groans under his breath as he begins to push inside, the word slipping from his lips like a prayer. The sensation is slow and steady, every inch of him stretching you in the most delicious way, the fullness of him making your breath catch. Your eyes flutter shut, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip as a soft gasp spills out.

For a moment, Luke remains still, savoring the feel of being inside you for the first time in weeks, the quiet hum of pleasure pulsing through the air. His forehead presses against the back of your head, his breath warm against your neck as his chest rises and falls against your back. Then, slowly, he starts to move.

His hips rock gently against you, each thrust relaxed, as if he has all the time in the world. The rhythm is a slow, intoxicating, sensation that leaves you craving more with every movement. His cock glides in and out of you, the friction sparking small waves of pleasure that build steadily, like the tide pulling you under.

His arm snakes around you again, his hand finding the curve of your breast, squeezing gently before his fingers find your nipple once more. The added feel pulls a gasp from your throat, and you arch slightly into his touch, your body answering every movement with unspoken need. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, teasing, pulling, as his hips continue their slow, steady rhythm, each thrust more maddening than the last.

You feel his breath hitch in your ear, his moans slipping out in soft, ragged bursts, the sound sending shivers down your spine. His body presses even closer, the curve of his chest molded against your back, his mouth grazing the side of your neck as if he can’t get enough of you. His lips find the sensitive skin just beneath your ear, planting soft, heated kisses there, each one sending little sparks of pleasure through you.

The slow, measured pace he’s set begins to unravel, each thrust a little deeper, a little more intense. Your body responds in kind, pressing back against him, meeting him with urgency. The tension in the air thickens, the pleasure building between you both with each passing second, coiling tighter and tighter, as if the entire world has shrunk down to the exquisite push and pull of your bodies moving together in perfect sync.

"Fuck, you feel so good..." Luke’s voice is rough, a low groan that hums in your ear. His hand tightens on your breast, his other arm pulling you closer, holding you in place as he continues to thrust into you, slowly driving you both toward that inevitable edge.

The slow rhythm of his thrusts starts to falter, a subtle shift in the way his hips meet yours, as if he’s struggling to maintain control. His breathing becomes uneven, his soft groans more frequent, and you can feel the tension coiling in his body, like a taut string ready to snap. Every time he drives into you, it’s a little harder, a little deeper, and with each thrust, you feel the pleasure building inside you, spiraling tighter and tighter.

His hand on your breast grips you more firmly now, his fingers teasing your nipple with a rougher urgency that sends jolts of sensation straight to your core. You gasp again, a soft, breathless sound that seems to spur him on. The friction of him inside you, his length stretching you, combined with the steady pressure of his hand, is overwhelming, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

Luke's lips are at your neck again, but now his kisses are more insistent, more desperate. His mouth moves along your skin, his breath hot and ragged as he murmurs something incoherent against you—your name, perhaps, or some wordless expression of how good you feel wrapped around him. His free arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place as he moves faster, the slow and conscious pace giving way to something more primal, more urgent.

You can feel it, too—that growing wave of pleasure deep in your core, building with every thrust, every flick of his fingers. Your breathing turns shallow, your pulse quickening as your body starts to tighten, the tension coiling in your belly, low and hot. It’s an all-encompassing sentiment, like you're standing on the edge of something vast, your body straining for release, teetering just on the brink.

Luke’s voice, thick and gravelly, breaks through the haze. "Are you close?" he groans, his breath catching on the words as his hips slam harder against you, his cock driving deeper with each thrust. "I can't... hold back much longer."

The sound of his voice, so raw and vulnerable, sends you careening toward the edge. Your hand reaches down instinctively, slipping between your thighs to where his cock is still buried inside you. Your fingers find your clit, already sensitive and swollen, and the moment you touch yourself, it’s like a lightning strike—a burst of agitation so intense it nearly steals your breath.

Your legs start to tremble, the pleasure building so fiercely now that you can hardly keep still, your hips grinding back against him with a need that feels insatiable. His name falls from your lips in a desperate whisper, and that’s all it takes—everything inside you unravels at once, the tension snapping as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, hard and fast.

Your orgasm tears through you in sharp, rolling waves, leaving you gasping and clinging to him as your body pulses with release. Your inner walls tighten around his cock, squeezing him as you come, and the sensation of you contracting around him pushes him over the edge too.

"Shit—" His voice breaks, a deep, guttural sound ripped from his throat as his hips jerk against you, and you can feel him pulse inside you, hot and thick, as he spills himself into you. His entire body tenses behind you, his grip on your breast tightening for a moment as he moans into your neck, the sound low and desperate, a mix of relief and raw need.

For a few seconds, neither of you move, both lost in the aftershocks, the lingering spouts of pleasure rippling through your bodies. His chest is heaving against your back, his breath still coming in short, ragged bursts, and you can feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat pressed against your spine. Your own breath is shaky, your body still trembling from the intensity of your climax, but there’s a deep sense of satisfaction settling over you

Luke's arm around your waist loosens slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin in soft, almost absent-minded kisses as you both come down from the high together. His cock still rests inside you, softening now, but neither of you are eager to break apart just yet.

"Fuck," Luke breathes after a long moment, his voice still rough with the remnants of pleasure. "That was incredible." His lips brush your shoulder, and his hand, now resting gently on your waist, gives a tender squeeze, his touch soft and affectionate.

You hum in response, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. Your body feels listless, content, as if every muscle has melted into the mattress. You turn your head slightly to catch a glimpse of him over your shoulder, his eyes still half-lidded and heavy with the aftermath of release, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he begins to speak again. "You have the craziest bedhead right now."

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[eyesthatroll]

─── DOUBLE OR NOTHING

─── QUINN HUGHES X FEM!READER

[ summary ] Falling for a hockey player was risky, but falling for a hockey player your dad coached was an entirely different gamble.

[ word count ] 7.4k

[ content warnings ] brief jealous quinn, drinking is mentioned, some gambling references which author (me) knows moot about it, angst if you really really squint, make out session that alludes to smut but it fades out before it gets too steamy, heavily unedited

[ note ] after rewriting this with three different players over the last eight months, Quinn was the one that truly motivated me to get it done. please note that the events of the gala are probably not factually correct but it’s for the plot okay

The first time you met Quinn, you knew who he was. Of course you did. He was a guy with a pretty impressive reputation for being his team's saving grace more often than not but most importantly, he was a player on the team your father just so happened to be the head coach for. So of course you knew who Quinn Hughes was the second you saw him in a lowly lit bar with a few of his teammates, and he knew who you were from the moment he saw you walk through the door. 

Quinn had seen your pictures all around his coach’s office, some from when you were young and some that were more recent. He had heard stories of your accomplishments and childhood in the midst of team dinner or practice rambles, and he had listened to your dad go on about how proud he was of you. It was a secret to none on the team that you were attractive, but the guys were smart enough to know you were off limits, but now that you were only a few feet away from him, Quinn knew that was going to be easier said than done.

At first, he pretended not to notice the way your eyes lingered on him longer than they should, and you pretended like you couldn’t feel his stare when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The two of you played the game of cat and mouse, neither of you quite ready to take the bait and completely follow through with what was being dangled in front of you. Though, when the group you were with combined with his own, you grew hopeful that that was going to change.

When one of the guys you quickly recognized as Brock introduced himself, he also went around and introduced the rest of the guys. You forced yourself to focus on them rather than the defenseman that was standing directly across from you, his eyes unwavering from you as you focused on his teammates. You didn’t dare spare a glance at him until his name was falling from his friends lips, but the second you made eye contact you knew you were undeniably screwed. 

“Hi,” You greeted, your voice sweet and smooth as you stuck your hand out for him to take, “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” He shyly smiles, the calluses of his palm slightly scratching the softness of your own.

 A few observing eyes noticed the way the two of you seemed to disappear in your own world, your hands locked together for far longer than necessary and your entire demeanor mirroring his own. It took the announcement of someone buying a round of shots for the two of you to break apart and join the rest of the group, but neither of you strayed too far from the other for the rest of the night.

While you didn’t go home with Quinn that night, you did manage to get his number from him before you went your separate ways. It took a little convincing on your part after he initially rebuffed your question with the simple excuse that he couldn’t because he played for your dad, but you were coy in your second attempt. Reminding him that exchanging phone numbers wasn’t a marriage proposal, that it was just you looking for more friends in a city that was brand new to you, and not long after, you couldn’t hide the smug smirk on your face as he typed his number in your phone.

The two of you started off casually texting, you asking him about his hobbies outside of hockey and him asking about how you were liking Vancouver so far. Your conversations flowed naturally and with ease, the two of you becoming closer than you thought you would in such a short amount of time. However, the two of you didn’t see another until his phone rang one random Friday night between home games. You’d had a bad date that left you stranded at a restaurant in a part of the city you were not yet familiar with and you had no ride home. Getting an uber by yourself was out of the question, and you found yourself clicking on Quinn’s number before anyone else's.

“Hello,” His voice was deep and wary, undoubtedly confused at your unprompted phone call.

“Hey,” You breathed out, “Are you busy?”

“No,” He shook his head, though you can’t see him, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes– Well, no, but it’s just– Do you think you can come pick me up,” You asked, your voice meek and hesitant as your eyes darted around the bustling street life around you.

“Of course,” His response was instant, almost embarrassingly so, “Send me your location and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The restaurant you had been left at was only a fifteen minute drive from him, but he made it in ten. He didn’t ask any questions as he held the passenger door open for you, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes dragged across the people walking by almost as if he was searching for something. Or someone. When he was back in the driver's seat, he silently handed you his phone with the music app open so you could play whatever you wanted as he started driving. However, not even the soft, familiar tune playing through the speakers was enough to ease the awkward tension filling the car.

“So,” You started, hands clasped in your lap as you gazed at him, “What have you been up to tonight?”

He briefly glances at you, a nervous chuckle passing through his lips before he says, “Nothing too exciting. Was just at home relaxing before the game tomorrow. What about you?”

You were quick to gather that you weren’t as outgoing and confident around him when you didn’t have a few drinks in your system, or when you were face to face as opposed to texting. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your fingers wringing together as you tried to keep yourself calm and outwardly collected. It also didn’t help that you picked up on the few wandering eyes of bystanders, their whispers making a ball of anxiety form in your chest at the thought of word somehow getting back to your dad. Though, you tried to push those fears away as you focused on the current moment.

“Well, I was on a date,” You snorted, pressing the side of your head into the headrest as you look between him and the road, “He left after getting some phone call, and left me there without a way home since he insisted on picking me up. Never doing that again.”

“He just left you there,” Quinn slowly asks, and his anger is evident in the way he’s white-knuckling the steering wheel and his jaw is clenched so tightly it looked almost painful. His sudden change in demeanor confused you, made you wonder what you had said that caused such a shift to the usually calm guy next to you. 

“Yeah,” You draw out, furrowing your eyebrows together, “But it’s okay, it’s probably the best thing that could’ve happened. I didn’t want to get back in his car.”

“Why even go on a date with someone who makes you feel like that,” He slightly scoffs, but you know he doesn’t truly blame you. At least, you hope he doesn’t.

“He wasn’t that bad over text,” You shamefully shrug, moving your gaze to the dashboard in front of you as you let out a shaky breath, “Plus, he was attractive enough for me to want to go home with him.”

Quinn’s breath hitches in his throat, a wave of jealousy washing over him like a bucket of scalding water, but he brushes it off as he adjusts in his seat and keeps his focus on the road. You can feel the slight shift in the air, but the feeling that lingers is unrecognizable. It’s tension, that much you can tell, but you can’t quite figure out what kind of tension it was. It unsettled you, the unfamiliarity, but you decided to force it down your throat and let the ride home pass in silence. 

When Quinn was nearing your apartment complex, you hadn’t expected him to park in one of the guest parking spots and slip out of the car. You pushed the car door open, stepping onto the concrete as he stands near the back of his car with his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants. He can see the curiosity swirling in your eyes as you near him, your bag tightly grasped in your hand as you stop and raise your eyebrows as you peer at him.

“I’m just walking you up to your apartment,” He chuckles, shaking his head in amusement, “I was raised with manners, you know.” 

“Thought that was typically done after a date,” You tease as you brush past him, trying to shake off the last bout of tension that remained stuck to you.

“Technically, this is,” He smugly points out as he follows closely behind you.

“I guess so,” You hum, throwing him a playful look over your shoulder as you continue, “But I’m not sleeping with you.”

That night, your relationship with Quinn began to shift into something you knew it shouldn’t. You found yourself texting him far more often about anything you could, thinking about him any time you got a free moment to yourself, spending as much time the two of you could spare together. The two of you were teetering over the edge into territory that could be dangerous for both of you, but neither of you were doing anything to stop it. 

Quinn knew that what he was doing was a gamble for trouble, his teammates constantly reminding him of that when your name would fall from his lips or pop up on his phone. Truthfully, Quinn had never been much of a risk taker before, always choosing the safe route or weighing all of his options in his head before following through, and he knew developing feelings for you was the biggest risk of all, but he didn't care when it came to you. While he wasn’t exactly sure where the two of you would end up, he was sure that he was willing to face anything that got in his way. To him, you were worth it all.

When your mom called and told you that you had to be at the annual Dice and Ice charity event the team was holding on Sunday, you had to bite your tongue to keep your eagerness at bay when you agreed. It had been nearly a week since you had last seen Quinn, courtesy of his hectic schedule and your busy life, and you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to see him again. Although the setting of your reunion wasn’t exactly ideal, you had high hopes that everyone would be far too busy to analyze any potential interactions you had with him.

The hallways to the venue were freezing, and the lower than normal temperature outside didn’t help in the slightest. While your brothers didn’t seem to mind with their pants and light jackets, you were bundled up in the warmest jacket you owned with a pair of fleece-lined leggings under the dress your mom asked you to wear. Living on the lower east coast for the last few years left you newly unaccustomed to the cold atmosphere you grew up around, and your brothers were not letting you forget about it.

“You would never know she grew up in hockey rinks,” Mason snorts, lightly slapping Trevor on the shoulder. 

“She’s just a beach girl now,” Liam teases, “Can’t handle the cold.”

“Duke doesn’t have beaches dumbass,” You roll your eyes, “It’s below freezing outside, anyways. I don’t want to hear you guys bitching about being cold later.” 

The four of you get into a playful bout of bickering, your voices growing louder as you try and talk over one another. All of you were far too engrossed in your petty argument that none of your ears picked up on the nearing footsteps until the two guys were standing right in front of you. You all come to an abrupt halt, Liam and Mason snapping their mouths shut as they gape at your new guests. 

“Hey guys,” Kiefer greets over the large box in his grasp, his eyes flitting towards you for a brief second.

“What’s up,” Trevor responds, puffing his chest out to make him appear taller.

You roll your eyes at his lame attempt at seeming cool before you ask, ”What are you guys doing?”

“We were sent on a mission,” Elias’ deep voice rumbles, “Or maybe we’re hiding. Who knows? ”

“Right,” You drawl, slightly narrowing your eyes at the taller of the two in confusion, “Well, you guys have fun with that. We’re gonna go.” 

You step around the two of them, your brothers following you without protest, but all three of them hear Elias’ not so quiet ‘Should we tell him she’s here?’. They all toss suspicious, curious looks your way, but you lamely shrug your shoulders in mock confusion as you scurry ahead of them. You knew your brothers were far nosier than you were and when they felt out of the loop, they would do anything to figure out what was being kept from them. All you could do was hope that luck was on your side tonight, and that they wouldn’t uncover the one thing you wanted to keep secret.

Quinn found you the second you stepped on the floor with three boys in your wake, and he couldn’t help but gawk at how beautiful you looked. The dress you were wearing was hugging you in all the right places, your hair done in a way that framed your face just right, and he could see the shine in your eyes, even from where he was standing. He could feel the knowing stares from his teammates as he let their conversation fade away, but he wasn’t in any hurry to look away. He was completely and utterly entranced with you.

It didn’t take you long to find Quinn, either. He was tucked in a corner with Conor and Brock, mingling with a few fans near the drink bar with amused smiles on their faces. You could feel your brothers watchful eyes on you, so you were quick to avert your eyes and sneak passing glances whenever you could. Each time their focus shifted to something more worthy, you were instantly letting your eyes fall on Quinn, and you found that he was already looking at you almost every single time. 

During the entirety of Quinn’s speech, your eyes never strayed away from him. You hung on to his every word, listening so intently that every other sound around you was temporarily muted. You didn’t pay attention to anything else except for him until you felt a small pinch to your arm, forcing your harsh gaze to your brother as he jerked his head towards your parents. They were rising to their feet as they clapped, so you followed suit and ignored the skeptical look on Trevor’s face.

At first, you weren’t entirely sure where your dad was looking off to, but when Quinn came into view, a pit of nerves formed in your stomach. He had a wide smile on his face, greeting people as he walked by them and ran his non-injured hand through his hair, and the simple act alone made your mind go hazy with thoughts of him. Though, admittedly the closer he got to you, the more sense the empty seat directly to your left made, and you felt like you were going to pass out on the spot.

”Nice speech, Huggy,” Your dad calls out, pulling Quinn into a friendly hug, “It’ll have donations rolling in.”

”Let’s hope so,” Quinn lightly laughs.

As he walks around the table, he stops to politely greet your mom and brothers before he finally gets to you. The shift in his gaze was so subtle that you almost missed it, almost missed the way his eyes sparkled with a glint of comfortable familiarity. Almost as if seeing you, simply being near you, was enough to relax him despite the hectic chaos around him.

“Hi,” He bites back the smile toying at his lips, holding out his hand for you to take, “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Quinn.”

“Hi, Quinn,” You stifle the amused tone threatening to burst to the surface as you tell him your name, “Nice to finally meet you, too.”

You’d been in Vancouver all season, but you had yet to make an appearance at any games or any other team events that would’ve allowed you to ‘meet’ Quinn. Pretending to not know each other was the safe route to go, the easiest way to keep your family unaware of what you had been doing in your free time. You still weren’t entirely sure how your dad would react if he found out you’d been hanging out, and crushing on, one of his players, and you weren’t looking to find out, either. Especially not tonight. 

“Two years I’ve been coaching this team,” Your dad calls out as he takes his seat, “And this is the first time my daughter’s meeting everyone.”

“Dad,” You exclaim in annoyance, narrowing your eyes at him as you sit down.

“Sorry, sorry,” He throws his hands up in surrender, “I know you were busy with work and school. I’m just messing around.”

“What were you studying,” Quinn smoothly redirects, fixating his gaze on your face, making your brief bout of frustration disappear like it was never there. 

The conversation flows after that, a mixture of hockey and various other topics being thrown around the table. Anytime you and Quinn would disappear into your own world, you could feel Trevor’s suspicious gaze on the side of your face and it served as a careful reminder that you were surrounded by your family and not in the confined walls of his apartment You’d forcefully pull yourself away from him and engage with the others, hoping no one else picked up on it the same way he did. However, judging by the several looks your mom threw your way, she could tell something was up. 

By the time the speech portion of the event was over, everyone scrambled off in different directions to participate in whatever caught their eye. Liam and Mason followed your dad to go and talk to some of the bigger sponsors, and Trevor disappeared before you could catch wind of where he was going. A few of Quinn’s teammates hastily pulled him away, but not before he tossed an apologetic look your way. A look that did not go unnoticed. 

“I see you and Quinn get along well,” Your mom’s voice startled you, tearing yours way from Quinn’s retreating figure.

“Yeah,” You nervously chuckle, avoiding her stare as you grasp at the fabric of your dress, “He’s nice.” 

She lets out a melodic hum, a sound you knew she reserved for when she knew her children were hiding something.

“He is a nice boy,” She affirmed, kissing her teeth before she moves in front of you, “Honey, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” You mumble as you finally meet her soft eyes, “But there’s nothing to tell. It was just nice to talk to someone my own age that isn’t from work.”

You could tell that she didn’t fully believe you, but she didn’t press any further. Instead, she pressed a gentle kiss to your temple before she was slipping into the crowd on her own. You stood in your spot, eyes darting through the sea of people in search of no spa in particular. You recognized a few of the girls that had been at the bar the night you met Quinn, but you didn’t feel privy enough to approach them. Finally, you managed to catch a glimpse of your brother standing at one of the roulette tables, and you made your way towards him.

When you reached his side, the dealer called out to you and asked if you were participating, earning a shake of your head as you stood behind Trevor. You weren’t all that great at playing any sort of betting game, but you knew the relative rules and basics and that made it easy to keep up with what was going on. Your brother seemed to be doing fairly well, and, from what you remember, he had a pretty good chance at winning.

“Your boyfriend’s coming over here,” Trevor mumbled, his gaze flicking beside him before the table in front of him reclaimed his focus.

“What,” Your face screwed up in confusion, “Who?”

Your head turned, and your eyes immediately settled on Quinn as he walked towards the table you were standing at. He was passing polite smiles and hello’s to everyone he passed, but he made no efforts to stop and converse further. The way your heart rate increased so quickly at the mere sight of him was almost worrisome, though it was a feeling you’d grown accustomed to by now. No matter how many times you saw him, or what you were doing, he made your heart race.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” You whisper under your breath, subtly kicking the leg of Trevor’s chair.

“Tell that to your face,” He smugly states without glancing in your direction.

Before you can say anything else, the sound of Quinn’s voice calling your name echoes in your ears. You take a deep, ragged breath, shifting your gaze to Quinn as he comes to a stop right beside you. He’s got his hands shoved into his pockets now, a slight pink tinge to his cheeks as he flickers his eyes between you and your brother.

“You not playin’,” He asks, clearing his throat before he settles on watching the table. 

“Absolutely not,” You snort, shifting on your feet, “I’ll leave Trevor to betting all Dad’s money” 

“At least it’s for a good cause,” He jokes as he gently knocks his elbow against your own, “How much is the pot?”

“Not sure what it is now,” You hum, letting your eyes trail to Quinn’s face, “I heard someone say something about double or nothing, though.”

“Oh he’s a risk taker, I see,” Quinn chuckles as his eyes dart across your face, “Must run in the family.”

“What’s a reward without a little risk,” You flirt, ignoring the blood pounding in your ears and the knots twisting in your stomach.

The sound of Trevor clearing his throat rips through the veil of tension that surrounds the two of you, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Quinn and straighten your back. You met the careful, warning filled stare he was throwing over his shoulder before he turned his focus back to the game in front of him, and you felt your entire face heat up in embarrassment like you’d been caught sneaking a boy into your room. You force yourself to keep your focus on what was going on in front of you, rather than the dark haired man who has been residing in your dreams for the last few months. Though, Quinn wasn’t making that easy on you with every fleeting touch to the arm or question he threw your way. 

“Hey,” He quietly calls out to you, eyes soft and hopeful, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Your gaze flickers back to your brother who was now honed in on the game before curtly nodding at Quinn. You follow closely behind him, ignoring the needles of anxiety that were poking your skin at the idea of someone somehow twisting what they saw and it getting back to your dad. In reality, you knew most people would assume that Quinn was likely helping you, guiding you in the unfamiliar building, but you knew how nosy people could be sometimes. They loved a good headline for their gossip sessions, and the last thing you wanted was your name on the front page. Fortunately for you, the two of you came to a quick stop as you joined a group of his teammates and their partners. 

Brock was the first to notice you, cheerfully greeting you before he pulls you into a friendly hug, which was shortly followed by one from his girlfriend. The others were simple with their hello’s, sticking to small waves and verbal greetings, and you happily returned them all. 

“Bella,” Quinn mumbled under his breath, slightly jerking his head towards you. 

“Oh, right,” Her face lights up with recognition, “I asked Quinn to bring you over here because I,” Her gaze briefly flickers towards Quinn, “Wanted to know if you’d be interested in going out with us afterwards? We’re just going to go to a bar for some drinks. Probably the one we met you at, actually!” 

“I’d love to,” You rush out embarrassingly fast, your face slightly heating up before you collect yourself, “I’ll have to tell my family though. I rode here with my parents and brothers.” 

You felt like a child as you told them that you had to practically ask for permission, but, judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, they already knew that. None of them were giving you any sort of weird looks, or looks of judges. In fact, they had all let their eyes fall on Quinn as he stood behind you with his hands shoved in his pockets and a bashful look on his face. It was then that the cliche lightbulb went off in your head. 

He knew that you would need a good enough cover story to leave without your family. It was something you’d mentioned over text the day before, and he was giving you just that. 

“That’s okay,” Bella continues, “We won’t be leaving until the events well over so there’s plenty of time. We just wanted to give you a heads up.” 

After that, you fell into a casual conversation with the group of them, even after Quinn and the guys had to wander off for teamly duties. The girls were nice, asking you about work and how you had been liking Vancouver so far, and they answered any questions you asked them without complaint. You stayed with them for a while, letting yourself enjoy their company before Bella reminded you that you still had to clue your family in on your plans for the night and time was about to run out.

You slipped back into the dwindling crowd, stepping around chair and circles of people as you searched for your Mom or Dad. It didn’t take you long to find them near the stage, both of them engaged in what seemed like a pleasant conversation with an older couple you vaguely remember meeting earlier in the evening. Once you finally reached them, you stood off to the side and patiently waited until they were finished up, and you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself at how childish it all felt. 

“Hi honey,” Your mom was the first to call out to you, her arm looped with your dads as she tugs him to face you, “Everything okay? We’re about to head out soon.”

“I was actually coming to tell you guys that I’m going to go home with Bella, Brock’s girlfriend,” You nervously admitted, picking up on the subtle flash of suspicion on your moms face, “They invited me out for drinks.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Your dad sighs as he anxiously glances at your mom, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Who knows who’ll be there and—”

“I know Dad, but you know I don’t have many friends here. I swear I’ll keep my ‘coaches daughter’ appearance up the whole time.”

A brief pause hangs in the air, and you know your mom can see right through the charade you were playing, but she keeps it to herself. In fact, she quietly encourages your dad to agree and let you have the night with friends.

“Okay, okay,” He finally shakes his head, small smile tugging at his lips, “I trust you. Have fun, okay? And be safe. Call me if you need a ride no matter what time it is. I’ll keep my ringer on.” 

“I will,” You practically squeal, lunging forward to pull them both into a hug, “I promise! I love you guys!” 

You reconnected with the girls as they hovered near the bar that held everyone’s jackets and purses, telling them that everything was good on your end. They all let out excited cheers before diving into what was the overly complicated driving situation. You could barely follow along, but what you were able to gather was several people carpooled and now there weren’t enough seats, which didn’t make any sense to you. 

“Wait,” You politely interrupt, “You said Elias and Conor rode here with Quinn, so why can’t they do that now?”

“Captain’s orders,” Bella drops her left eye into a wink, making your entire face warm and your chest warm. 

You don’t have much time to think about her insinuation before the guys are crowding around you all over again. The already loud conversation seemingly increased times ten as everyone tried to talk over one another, but eventually they were able to come to enough of an agreement for everyone to finally filter out to the parking garage. You noticed that Brock and Bella made sure to stay close to Quinn, which in turn, meant you could stay close to him without worrying about your parents wandering eyes.

“You ridin’ with me,” Quinn asks as you step into the brisk Canadian air. 

“I think that is the plan,” You confirm, glancing at him with a teasing glint shining in your eyes, “Apparently it’s just us, though. Something about ‘captain's orders’ I heard.” 

“Oh, did you,” He raises his eyebrows, a mischievous smile toying at his lips, “Guess we have to follow them, don’t we?”

You follow Quinn to his car, settling into the familiar leather seat as he adjusts the temperature and hands you his phone so you can pick the music. You're scrolling through Apple Music when he starts backing out, but it doesn’t take you long to queue up a bunch of songs you know you’ll both like. After so many car rides and impromptu karaoke sessions, you’d grown used to his music taste. You put his phone in the cup holder, softly singing along to the song as you fall into the comfortable silence that fills the car. 

“You okay if we swing by my apartment first,” Quinn asks after a few minutes, glancing away from the road to look at you for a second, “I want to change before we head there and I think I still have some of your clothes at my house from when your washer broke.”

“Oh, that’d be great actually. I need to get out of this dress,” You dramatically groan, pushing your head into the headrest, “It’s a little uncomfortable, but my mom insisted that I wear it. She said it was ‘sophisticated’ or whatever.”

“Well, you look good,” Quinn rushes out, clearing his throat as he puts extra effort into looking at the road in front of him. 

Your gaze flickers over to him, fixating on his face and taking quick notice to his cheeks that were tinged pink, but you can’t tell if it’s from how warm his car was or the comment that still hung in the air.

“Thank you, Quinn,” You sheepishly smile, letting your eyes fall to his hands as one grips the steering wheel and the other rests on his thigh, “You look good, too.”

It doesn’t take long for Quinn to get to his apartment, pulling into his usual parking spot before he’s quickly jumping out of his seat and speed walking around his car. You knew what he was doing, and you always pretended to be busy gathering your stuff until he was there to open the door. A fact you’re certain he knew, but neither of you ever brought it up to one another. If you mentioned it, it would only lead to a conversation that neither you nor him were quite ready to have with each other.

“My place is a little messy,” He bashfully admits as he sticks his key into the door, “Haven’t had much time to clean lately.”

You wave him off with a small shake of the head, stepping around him when he pushes the door open to let you inside. Your eyes graze over his apartment, your brows arching as you take in what his idea of messy was. He had a few stray hoodies thrown about, some dishes lingering on the kitchen counter, and maybe two take out containers on his dining table. He’d hate to see the state your apartment was currently in if he thought this was bad.

“Your clothes are in the guest room, so you can change in there and then we’ll head out,” He clears his throat, tossing his keys on the small table before he turns to you. 

You were shrugging your coat off, carefully laying it over the back of his kitchen stool since he had yet to get an actual rack to hang anything on. He couldn’t stop himself from letting his eyes drag the length of your body as if he hadn’t spent the entire evening doing that already. His fingers twitched at his side, the urge to commit the feeling of you to memory growing the longer he let himself stare.

“Sounds good,” You hum, pivoting on you heels to catch Quinn already looking at you. Even though he was quick to look away, it was too late. He’d been made. 

Quinn mumbles something incoherent before he darts down the hallway to his room, leaving you almost as flustered as he was in the middle of his living room. You’d spent time alone with him before, several times, but you’d never caught him blatantly checking you out before, and it made your stomach twist itself into undoble knots. It took you a few moments to gather yourself enough and will your feet to move down the hall and into the guest room.

With the door shut behind you, you scan the room until you find that the clothes you had left were neatly folded on the small dresser across from the bed. You hadn’t realized that you left so much at Quinn’s, but you were grateful for that now, wanting to shed yourself of the dress that was digging into your skin the longer you wore it. As you picked through a few of the shirts, you froze when your fingers brush against the fabric of a hoodie you knew didn’t belong to you. 

You recognized the logo on it immediately, having seen it during the many times you had stolen the hoodie it decorated when you’d conveniently forgotten to bring your own every time the two of you hung out. You’re not sure how it got mixed up with your laundry, but if Quinn had taken the time to fold all of your things, he had to have left it in there on purpose. He had to have knowingly left his hoodie, a hoodie he told you a hundred times he loved, in a pile of your clothes, but why?

Deciding not to spend too much time dwelling on a piece of clothing, you let it fall on the dresser and stepped out of your heels. You glanced between your shoes and the pants you had left here, suddenly regretting your choice to forego the flats you were contemplating with earlier, but you accepted the fact you were going to have to make it work. After all, it was either that or stick with the dress, and that was the last thing you were going to do. 

You had shed the fleece leggings, tossing them on the floor somewhere before you were grasping at the zipper of your dress trying to free yourself from it, but it seemed to be stuck. No matter how hard you tugged or what position you stood in, it just wasn’t budging. You tried pulling the sleeves over your shoulders to pull it down, but the fabric wasn’t flexible enough and kept you trapped in its stupid confinement. Letting out a defeated groan, you stared at the door knowing that your only hope at freedom was right down the hall.

“Hey, Quinn,” You called out, sticking your head through the break in the door, “Can you come help me really quick?”

“Uh, yeah,” You hear him shout in response, “Be there in a sec.”

You leave the door cracked open enough that he would know to come right in and awkwardly stood near the end of the bed with your hands clasped in front of you as you rocked on your feet. There was a small bout of nervousness forming in your chest at the idea that Quinn was quite literally about to help you undress, but you tried to snuff it out by reminding yourself that it was just a friendly thing. A friend helping out another friend. Just two friends who are friendly. 

“What’s up,” He says as soon as he steps through the doorway, his eyes darting up to your hair that you’d messed up during your zipper induced frustration, “Everything okay?”

The second you saw Quinn, you felt everything around you come to a screeching halt. He had gotten rid of his suit jacket, but he was still wearing the white button up that was underneath. Only now, the first few buttons were undone and the sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, and it made you completely lose the ability to function properly until you heard him call out your name again. 

“Sorry,” You sheepishly murmur as you shake your head, “Sorry. I just, uh, I need some help with the zipper on my dress. I think it’s stuck and I can’t get it.”

“Oh,” Quinn breathes out, visibly swallowing before he nods, “Yeah, okay. I can do that. No problem. Easy money.” 

He mumbles a few more things under his breath as he walks towards you, but they were too low for you to understand. You nervously turn around so that your back was towards him, your heart pounding in your chest and your ears ringing as you waited with baited breath. You can hear the unevenness of Quinn’s breathing behind you, the sound telling you that he was just as nervous about this as you were. Though you didn’t let yourself believe it was for the same reasons, no matter how badly you wanted it to be. 

“I’m gonna—,” Quinn stutters, his fingers ghosting over the exposed skin of your upper back, “I’m going to try and do it now.”

All you managed in response was a small, curt nod, not trusting yourself to speak when he was so close to you. You can feel the pressure from his hand, but you can tell that he’s being careful to not actually touch you. To not let his fingers brush against your soft skin the way that you desperately wanted him to. Your body reacted before your mind could, your feet shuffling back so you were closer to him and he had less room to pull away, but he didn’t move. 

He stayed in the same spot, this time letting his knuckles graze your spine as he effortlessly tugged the zipper down until it came to a stop just above the curve of your ass. A trail of goosebumps chased his fingers, leaving the skin behind them on fire and your body shuddering when he slowly pulls away. Every nerve in your body was burning with months worth of desire to feel more, to feel him on every inch of your body in ways that a friend shouldn’t. It was making your sense of reasoning cloudy, but maybe that was exactly what you needed. 

“Quinn,” You whisper, your eyes fluttering closed as you hesitantly turn to face him, “Can I ask you something?”

When you find the courage to meet his gaze, it felt like time was beginning to crawl, teasing and testing you to the point of breaking. It felt like the world was putting everything on pause for you until you decided what you wanted. To decide if you were willing to risk what felt like everything on the off chance that the guy in front of you was willing to do the same. 

“You can ask me anything,” He softly affirms, looking at you with a gaze so intense it makes your knees grow weak. 

“What would you say if I told you I wanted you to kiss me,” You shakily mutter as you feel the gap between the two of you closing. You’re not entirely sure who was initiating it, maybe it was both of you, but it didn’t matter. 

“I’d say that we shouldn’t,” He declares, his eyes dropping to your lips, “That your dad is my coach and I don’t know if we should take a risk that big.”

His face was barely two inches away from you now, and you can feel his breath fanning your face as anticipation builds in the lower part of your stomach. You barely register the way he was cradling your jaw in your palm until his thumb was brushing over your lips, sending a shiver down your spine and one of your sleeves slipping off your shoulder. 

“Do you want to know what I would say to that,” You subtly challenge, looking up at him through your lashes, “I’d say that sometimes the risk is worth the reward.” 

The words had barely gotten out of your mouth before Quinn was slamming his lips on yours in a kiss so blinding that you had to grab a hold of his shoulder to keep yourself steady. His mouth was moving against yours so desperately, so fervent and yearning for more as his hand slid to cup the back of your head and he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Heat coursed throughout your entire body as you clung to Quinn, as you use his body to keep yourself from toppling over from how hard he was kissing you. 

His other hand finds purchase on your hip as he carefully guides your body backwards until you can feel the mattress on the backs of your thighs. You let your body fall against it, Quinn following closely behind until he’s hovering over you and your hands are tangled in his hair. You’re tugging at the roots, coy smirk tugging at your lips when he groans against your mouth, and one of your legs is hooked behind him to pull him even closer to you. 

You can feel his bulge pressed on the inner part of your thigh as he grinds against you, applying pressure to the one spot you needed him the most. A soft moan slips through your lips with each passing movement he makes, and Quinn nearly comes undone from the sound alone.  The idea of still trying to meet up with his friends had already been fleeting the second he walked into the room, but now it wasn’t even an afterthought. All he could think about was you. The way you looked, the way you felt, the way you sounded. Quinn was willing to give up anything and everything as long as he got to have that. As long as he got to have you.

me and open, vague endings are besties if you couldn't tell ;)

[eyesthatroll]

hi hi hi!

i’ve been thinking about times with quinn where you get to tag along to whatever cities he’s playing in 🥹

maybe he has a couple days off between games and the two of you get to explore a new place together, sure he’s been there before but your wife eyes put everything in a new light for quinn

talking tennesse | quinn hughes

a/n: thank you so much for requesting! i absolutely love this idea! i did indeed go a little bit crazy on this one- making it a full fic, but this idea really had me thinking about how lovely life would be with quinn hughes as your husband 🥹 i hope you enjoy!

pairings: quinn hughes x wife!reader

warnings: wives and girlfriends mentioned, please know i don't follow the canucks team, so all the WAGS mentioned are purely fictional and made up by me!

word count: 5.3k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Marriage comes with many aspects of happiness in all areas of your lives, but what you were most fulfilled with, was being able to spend the rest of your life, married to Quinn and being by his side as his biggest supporter of his career. Of course, it was a lifestyle you had grown to get used to, and was a big shift in your relationship when he was announced as captain of Vancouver, but nevertheless, being able to watch him succeed and play the game he loves, ultimately completed you as a being. 

A perk to Quinn’s career being a part of a national franchise, was the opportunities to travel to new cities alongside your newly pronounced husband. You were forever grateful to the team for their accommodations, but also appreciative towards Quinn who always made the extra effort to ensure you had the smoothest, and most safe travels to watch him play from such far distances from your home. 

Quinn and the Canucks were scheduled for a five-game road trip to the United States, playing every other day against Minnesota, Chicago, Columbus, St. Louis, ending their stretch on a Friday in Nashville, Tennessee before flying the far distance back to Vancouver for home games. 

Busy with other commitments, you had taken some time away from work to visit Quinn and watch his games against the Blues and Predators, scheduling your flights with Quinn a few months prior to make sure your schedules matched. 

Luckily enough, after their game in Nashville, the schedule had left them with a three day break, and their next practice being only two days after the last played game. When Quinn and you had realized he would have a few days off to relax, you both hopped on quickly to take advantage of being able to spend time together. 

—

You walked into your shared, Vancouver apartment, shrugging off your damp raincoat and hanging it on the hook that was placed to the left of the entrance. You slid your boots off and quickly dropped them next to the rack of shoes that were neatly organized before walking into the warm, aromatic environment with dimly lit lights creating a relaxed atmosphere that consumed you. 

Quinn was in the kitchen, the smell of food being cooked on the stove added to the aroma of your apartment, and you followed the scent as you turned the corner, revealing Quinn facing the stove, cooking what looked to be an assortment of veggies in one pan, while another pan cooked a seasoned chicken. 

A smile immediately rose to your face, the sight of your favourite brunette in a navy blue hoodie that looked two sizes too big, engulfing his frame, paired with black, baggy sweats, being the cause of your smile. The teddy bear look on Quinn elicited an excited swirl of adrenaline to rush through your body. And you absentmindedly walked up to his figure, sliding your arms around his torso from behind, his body immediately melting into yours at the contact. 

“Hi you,” you smiled up to meet Quinn’s gaze whose eyes already found your face, a soft expression written on his features. 

“Hey, how was work?” He asked immediately, Quinn turned in your grip and he maneuvered your two bodies slightly to the side to step away from the cooking food. His own hands met your waist, your black trousers descending in length to the ground and fabric pooling at your feet. His fingers toyed with the belt loop of your waistband, as he quickly reached down to peck your lips. 

You stood up tall in his embrace as you began to describe your day and all the small details about your commute, a meeting you had and a phone call with a client. As you continued, Quinn leaned against the marble countertop quietly and contently as he listened to you. It was one of his favourite things to do; to hear you talk, no matter what it was about. The energy you emitted just with hearing your voice and the passion and care behind it, was one of the main reasons Quinn knew he had to marry you. 

You had now made your way over to the fridge to grab a water bottle from one of the shelves, turning back around to take a seat on the island barstool, while Quinn went back to cooking, still actively listening to you talk. 

“Oh yeah, and I talked to my boss and she said I was more than good to take time off that weekend you’re in Nashville, so I’ll come down on the Wednesday night after your game in St. Louis and meet you at the hotel.” You said as you took a sip of water, rewarding your throat with moisture from all the words and speaking you had just produced. 

“That’s great, babe, we can do that tonight then.” Quinn said in regard to booking your flights. “Wanna make sure you get there as quickly and safely as possible.” He said, turning off the dial producing heat to cook the food. 

“Y’know it’s never a problem flying out, always smooth sailing.” You remarked, giggling a little at the slight spurge in Quinn’s protectiveness peering through. 

He hummed in response, “I know, just gotta make sure.” 

“Well,” you let out a breath as you stood to your feet, seeing Quinn was now dishing up each of your portions of dinner. “Thanks for being so considerate, Husband.” You said slyly as you walked up to him, bumping his hip with your own as you placed a quick kiss to his cheek before grabbing your plate and walking towards the small dining room to eat your meal together. 

—

The flight to Nashville was effortless, having slept for the majority of it, your baggage claim and commute from the airport to the hotel seemed to pass by as if you had only blinked. 

You checked into the hotel, reserved under Quinn and your name, and the day of travel had seemingly caught up to you, as you flopped on the large king mattress, coat and shoes still on, too exhausted to bother changing at the moment. 

After building up the courage to at least settle in for the night, you changed into a comfortable hoodie and lounge pants, pulling your hair up into a clip so it was out of your face and ordering a quick meal to eat while you caught the last few minutes of Quinn’s game in St. Louis. They were down 4-2 in the third period, desperately making an effort to make a comeback, but much to yours and the rest of the Canucks team and fans, they fell short at the end of regulation. 

You switched the channel to play in the background as you went to the attached bathroom and began getting ready for the night, and as you finished brushing your teeth, moving onto skincare, you heard the ringtone of your phone calling from the bed. 

Quickly, you shuffled to where the incoming call was being sent from, and you peered down at the phone, seeing the contact photo you had set for Quinn light across the screen. It was you and him on your wedding day, a black and white picture of him carefully leaning you backwards into a dip, his large hand spread over your back, and the smiles written across each of your faces as you looked deeply into one another’s eyes, encapsulated the exact feeling you experienced on that day, and spread to how you feel three-hundred and sixty-five days of the year, being with Quinn. 

You undoubtedly slide your finger on the screen to accept the call, and your screen is switched to be filled with Quinn’s tired, almost gloomy expression.

“Hey, honey,” you dragged out, lacing your tone with sympathy towards the recent loss. “How are you holding up?” You asked, walking back into the brightly lit bathroom, seeing the light reflect through the screen and onto Quinn’s face. 

He sighed, his distraught expression pulling at your heartstrings. “Could be better– it just sucks y’know? No one likes losing.” He explained. It was clear he was located somewhere quiet, most likely the bus given the slight background noise cutting through. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s never easy, but you guys have had a good road trip so far, I’m more than confident that you’ll close it out on a positive note in Nashville.” You reassured him. You knew it was hard on Quinn, losing and feeling an immense weight of pressure being the captain and holding himself and his teammates to certain standards and expectations, but you knew that sometimes– all Quinn needed was to talk and be with you. So you always let him. No matter the circumstance, you would listen when he just needed to get things off his chest, console him after a tough loss, and praise him in all the ways he deserved when they took home a big win. 

“Thanks, babe. I love you.” He said as you saw him run a hand through his messy, wet curls. “Plus, I get to spend the weekend with you in Nashville.” He added, a smile sounding through his voice at the thought of what was expected after the final game of their road trip. 

“You’re too sweet, you know that?” You asked, glancing at your phone as you finished your nighttime routine. 

“Of course, always wanna impress my girl.” He said proudly, a bright smile erupting on his face. 

You then found your way into the bed, pulling back the covers and sliding into the comfort of the mattress. It wasn’t long before Quinn and you ended the call, saying your goodnights and I love yous, and by the time you had turned off your phone and lights of the room, the only source coming from the TV that played in the back– you were deep into a much needed rest. 

It felt like mere minutes after your eyes fell heavy and into a deep sleep, when the sound of Quinn opening the door of the hotel and attempting to be as quiet as possible, stirred you in your sleep. 

You tried to ignore it, hearing the bustling around as Quinn probably unpacked his bag and changed out of his suit, and it wasn’t long before you felt the dip in the mattress as Quinn slid in next to you. 

“Are you awake?” He whispered, barely audible.

You groaned in response, wanting to maintain your state or tranquility, but you rolled over to face him, your eyes slightly squinting opening to peer at his face, but the exhaustion still laid heavy on you, so all you could gather was a stretch of your arm up to his shoulder that felt warm and bare.

Quinn adjusted under the weight of your arm, his own hand finding your side as he snuggled into your warm figure. And all you could process was the feeling of Quinn’s breaths against your body as your eyes fluttered back to their position and your mind fell unconscious. 

—

The warm, morning sun bled through the thin fabric of the curtains of the hotel room, a calm silence falling over as Quinn and you were fast asleep, the events from the previous night wiping all energy from you. 

As you slowly came to wake, you felt the presence of Quinn from behind you, his warm body emitting heat under the covers and spreading to you, as his front was pressed up against your back. Your eyes closed further than they already were as you cleared your blurry, sleep-filled vision, and you noticed the weight of Quinn’s arm, protectively wrapped around your torso. The heavy weight of his arm justified to you how exhausted Quinn was from the long travelling and disappointing loss the night before. 

To spare him, you avoid waking him up, rolling over to face him while under his grasp, and you slide your own arm over top of his shoulder and wrap it to entangle your fingers in his luscious brown curls. 

You dozed off, back into your slumber as you fell content with the feeling of being so close to Quinn, and an hour had passed before you both began to stir, Quinn’s grip on your side tightening as he stretched under the sheets. 

“Morning, pretty.” Quinn greeted with a tired smile on his face. His eyes were barely open, avoiding the blinding light of the sun that shone through into the room, and you peck his lips in response, taking your hand and pushing away the stray strands of his hair that fell onto his face. 

“G’morning, babe. How did you sleep? I barely heard you come in last night– when did you get in?” You perked, sitting up in the bed, still under the plush duvet of the hotel bed, as Quinn’s arm fell to your hip, grasping at the love handle. It was one of the things you loved most about Quinn– his desire to always touch you. 

Whether it was while you two were at home, in your own comfort watching a movie and he’d rub gentle, sweet nothings on your shoulder as he wrapped his arm around you, the fabric of your hoodie rubbing against your skin that sent waves of excitement rushing through your body. Or even when you attended parties or events being held by the hockey team. Alongside Quinn, when talking with fellow teammates and management members, the feeling of Quinn’s hand spread on the small of your back as he was deeply invested in a conversation.

You briefly glance at the hand on your hip, following it up his arm to his face, taking in the sight of a tired Quinn– messy hair, only covered with a pair of sweat shorts and nothing else. You wanted nothing more than to pounce at the sight, but you knew there were plans in order, other than spending the entire day in the sheets. 

“I think I got in around three, not too bad, but still. You were passed right out,” He chuckled, closing his eyes momentarily to reminisce at the sight from last night. “But I slept well, I’m ready for our day today.” He nodded towards you, a smile erupting on your face at the mention of what brought you to Nashville. 

Not only would you be catching the game this evening, Quinn and you, along with a few other members of the Canucks and their wives and/or girlfriends, all decided to venture to the infamous Broadway Street in Nashville– known for its amazing live music bars and entertainment. 

You rolled out of bed excitedly, jumping a slight amount as you walked over to the bathroom to begin getting ready by preparing to shower. “I’m so looking forward to it,” you called to Quinn who was still laid in bed, “Natalie was telling me about a live performance at the one place we booked the reso for, so I’m super excited to see the show.” You smiled to yourself, anticipating the events that were soon approaching. 

You briskly showered, finishing in what seemed like record time and Quinn soon followed suit, stepping into the warm bathroom to get ready. As you began your makeup routine, he quickly showered, stepping out in nothing but a hotel towel, hung loosely around his waist, inevitably catching your attention. 

Quinn only chuckled, knowing you like the back of his hand, and slid his arm around your side, squeezing the skin as he placed a soft, wet kiss against your neck, making you inhale sharply in response. 

Quinn had practice before tonight’s game against the Predators, so while he was with his team for the majority of the day, you planned to spend it alongside the other wives and girlfriends of the players– going for brunch and then touring a few of the wineries a few other girls had mentioned. 

It wasn’t long before Quinn and you parted ways, bidding your farewells and making sure each one of you were satisfied with the amount of kisses and hugs exchanged. Quinn, of course, was the one who desired a few more before he left, but you were quick to lightheartedly protest, pushing him out of the hotel room. 

—

Brunch was fantastic, the girls had their fair share of breakfast mimosas along with a delicious meal, and the wineries occupied their afternoon before they all commuted to the arena for the game this evening. 

You were sat with Natalie, Cassandra and Ashley, some of the girlfriends you had grown close to over the years of Quinn being in Vancouver, and you both being together. 

You were dressed in navy blue jeans and a cream-coloured blouse, alongside a black, leather jacket with a large number ‘43’ embroidered into the back with the Canucks logo stitched in as well– the jacket being gifted from the team to all the players' significant others. On your feet, you styled a pair of cowgirl boots, ones you had specifically picked out with Quinn for this trip, and you had admired your outfit for a few extra minutes before leaving earlier in the day to brunch. 

“I’m so excited for tonight,” Cassandra exhaled, turning around in her seat to face the rest of the group who squished together in the backseat, “and I must say– we all look so hot right now, the guys aren’t gonna know what to do with themselves!” She exclaimed, earning a laugh from everyone else. 

“I know! And I love all our matching jackets, I’m definitely posting something for this trip.” Ashley responded. You nodded in agreement, a bright smile of excitement written all over your face, as you dropped your attention to your phone in your hand, a blank message to Quinn waiting to be sent. 

It was a game day ritual, sending your good luck charm and cheering him on, even if it was just over the phone– you knew it meant a lot. 

Y/n

Goodluck tn, babe. I love you! Go kill it 💙

Closing your phone and watching the scenery pass by as the sun began to set and nighttime was slowly inching around the horizon, you felt a buzz from your phone, and you didn’t even look to know who the notification was from. 

—

The game had been an intense, energy-filled forty minutes. Nashville and Vancouver were tied after two periods, and it was now time for the last twenty minutes of regulation to achingly pass by in anticipation to declare a winner. 

You could tell the team was tired, the long stretch of road games, against intense teams and long days of travel– it was starting to catch up on everyone, but you were more than sure the team had it in them to close this one off. 

After the intense battle, the Canucks were able to seal off the win, scoring another two goals in the last twenty minutes, one of the goals being scored by the one and only. The few Vancouver fans excitedly cheered at the win, while Nashville fans began to clear out of the stands, the group of wives and girlfriends holding back in their section of seats before making their way to where the players would depart. 

You stood with Ashley and Natalie, the pair being immersed in their phones most likely putting together a post from today’s adventure, and you also found yourself scrolling through your feed while you waited impatiently to see your favourite brunette turn around the corner of the dressing room hallway. 

It wasn’t long before the players began making their way out of the dressing room, their amped up energy filling the atmosphere, leaving everyone on their toes for ways to celebrate and close out their road trip on a high note. You watched eagerly as each player carried their large hockey bag over their shoulder and placed it near the pile where they would later be sent off, then each hockey player going to greet their guests. 

Just as you were putting your phone away into your purse, you heard the familiar voice appear louder as the man behind the voice approached the exit. Catching your attention, you look up from your side to see the only face you couldn’t wait to be greeted with, Quinn’s glory radiating off his face at the victorious game. He quickly shuffled over to the bag area, slipping off his heavy duffel bag to the floor before turning his entire body in your direction– his face almost immediately lighting up further than it had been mere seconds ago. 

He walked proudly over to where you stood, arms reaching out to pull you into his embrace, as a smile of your own broke out on your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your head falling into the crook of his collarbone as you two reconnected after being apart since earlier in the day. 

“Good job, my love,” you mumbled against the skin of his neck. His hands that were placed near your ribs, fell down your sides to your hips, gripping your sides with intent as he pulled away from your hug to meet your eyes. “You did so amazing today.” You smiled, even the words falling off your tongue making you feel proud of your boy. 

“Thank you, baby.” He quipped, meeting your gaze as you looked into his, a soft smile falling over his face as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on your lips. When you feel the contact, his warm, soft lips sending shocks of energy through your body, you feel Quinn’s hands against you tug in a way that speaks thousands of words without needing to. 

Just from the kiss and his touch, you know he is grateful to have you cheering him on, and being there after the game to congratulate him. You both knew, being busy with your own careers, it wasn’t often that you two would be able to spend a weekend away together during the regular season of hockey. So, the fact that you were here, waiting for him after the game and having plans for the rest of the night, you both knew was something you would cherish immensely. 

The plan was set that after the game, the group of hockey players and their wives and girlfriends would head to dinner at a restaurant close to the Broadway strip, before attending a few country bars and enjoying the rest of the night with live music. 

“Ready to head out?” Quinn asked, his arm still wrapped around your waist as you stood with the rest of the group in the arena. 

You hummed in response, “mhm. I’m excited for the rest of tonight.” You smiled softly, leaning your head on Quinn’s shoulder. 

Minutes passed by quickly as everyone cleared out of the arena, everyone driving separately to their hotels to quickly change and get ready for the night out in Nashville. Quinn had changed into a pair of jeans, paired with a white t-shirt that had a beer branded on it, along with his go-to pair of white sneakers. While for you, changed into light pink floral sundress and kept the same pair of cowgirl boots on to pair with the dress. Since the sun had well set hours ago and the chill of the night had taken over, you made sure to slip on a boyfriend-style jean jacket to give yourself an extra layer of warmth.

After freshening up, hand-in-hand with Quinn, you both walked down to the lobby of the hotel, waiting for Natalie and Tyler to make their way to the front and meet you to leave for the night out. 

It wasn’t long before Natalie greeted you, pulling you into a tight hug, even though it hadn’t been long since you last saw her– it was the dynamic you two shared and grew over time. 

With the uber waiting outside, you all begin to walk out, Tyler and Natalie walking ahead of Quinn and you, and you look over in the direction of your husband when you feel the touch of his hand on the small of your back as you walk outside to the car. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” Quinn smiled softly, rubbing his hand up and down your back and you turned your body to lean into him, a hand coming to place on his broad chest. 

“You’re too sweet, I love you.” You grin as you give Quinn a quick peck on the lip. You slide into the uber, Quinn following in behind and shutting the door once he was situated and the ride began shortly after.

As you all conversed together, you chatted here and there, but mainly listened, loving the sound of Quinn proudly speaking about things the two of you had done recently, or whatever the topic of conversation was. You let him talk, not minding the silence, and also being entranced by his charismatic persona. His hand was placed firmly on your exposed knee, caressing the skin and making your body heat up in response. You were always mindful of the fact Quinn still had his charm and ways of making you feel so full of love. 

By the time you arrived at dinner, the majority of the others were already seated, greeting the four of you as you entered and found your seats at the large table. The restaurant was country themed, as expected, the walls covered with memorabilia of the history of Nashville and its popular musical history. Once you were comfortable in your seats and the server came around, the four of you had requested a round of drinks and a meal for each of you that had called your name as you looked over what the restaurant had to offer. 

As you ate, drank and caught up with the team, Quinn’s arm was splayed on the back of your chair, every so often running his hand up to your shoulder to give a soft squeeze of reassurance. 

You were deeply immersed in a conversation with one of the girlfriend’s of the players who you were sat across, about the new hair product she had just tried and highly recommended when Quinn’s hand found the small of your back once again and you felt the warmth of his presences increase as he leaned in closer to you. 

“I’m gonna run to the washroom, okay? You good? Need anything?” He asked softly in your ear over the loud noise of the audience in the restaurant and the music that played over the speakers. You smiled softly at him and nodded, reaching your own hand to his forearm where you gave a reconfirming tug that you were content. 

The blonde from across from you cooed at the interaction, “You two are so adorable, almost about time you start making some mini version of each other!” She exclaimed. You let out a laugh at her remark, knowing that was a hot topic of conversation for a lot of people in your and Quinn’s lives. Your parents and even Quinn’s had started to ask the question of when you two were going to start having kids, and of course it was something you talked about, but you both had agreed it was something that you would wait on, and the right timing would come when necessary. 

Ashley’s head popped up at the conversation, quirking her head to the side in amusement and a smile beginning to break through. 

“Oh, what are we talking about?” She eagerly pressed, leaning in your direction. You only shook your head and rolled your eyes at her excitement. Ashley had recently given birth to a beautiful boy, Carter, and ever since she had her first, she had incessantly pried at when it was going to be your turn to have a little one welcomed into the world. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you laughed at Ashley’s interest, earning quick nods from her. “We’ve definitely talked about it.” You responded to the initial question. 

“Talked about what?” You heard from behind you, as Quinn found his seat again, his arm immediately taking its place on the back of your chair. 

“How you two would make the most beautiful babies and should definitely give Carter a little best friend.” Ashley responded in a sing-song voice, fighting the urge to let out a giggle. 

Quinn hums and tilts his head back slightly, “Ah, I see. Well, then yes, we’ve definitely talked about it, but I wouldn’t mind having a little one sometime soon.” He smiled towards Ashley who looked like she could almost burst from excitement. Quinn’s hand found your thigh, giving a quick squeeze to grasp your attention and you looked over towards him, a knowing look in his eyes. 

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, knowing what the certain look he gave meant. It was similar to the one when he would reassure you in moments where you needed support, the look when he would make sure you were honest with him with your needs. Even the look he gave when he first asked you to be his girlfriend, the first time he said he loved you and the time he asked you to marry him. 

Who knew one small look from the man who changed your life completely, could mean such an array of things. 

—

Later that night, after dinner had wrapped up and you all began your journey to some of the famous country bars on the strip of Broadway, Quinn and you walked together with your hands tightly intertwined, swaying back and forth with each step. 

You entered the one bar, live music filling the room with the sound of country music hitting your ears. You had followed the group to the bar, ordering one of their specials before finding a small table to stand around. Quinn’s arm tightly wrapped around your waist, holding you close to his side and his warmth radiating off of him, left you in a content state of peace. You looked up to Quinn, meeting his gaze which was so loving and endearing you knew he was so appreciative to be here with the person he loved more than you would ever know, and when a slow, love song was introduced by the live band and you excitedly urged him to slow dance with you, he without a doubt followed the drag of your hand in his towards then open dance floor. 

His hands found your waist and your arms locked behind his neck, his forehead leaning down against yours as you listened to the band cover Morgan Wallen’s “Chasin’ You”. You swayed back and forth, letting the music bring you into a trance of pure bliss as the world enclosed around the two of you.

When the song ended, Quinn’s eyes that had fell shut, opened to look down at you, and he instinctively placed a soft, wet kiss against your lips, the taste of his drink spilling into your own mouth as your hands tugged softly at the soft tips of his brown curls. 

“I love you so much, I’m so glad we’re here right now.” Quinn said softly, earning a smile to tug on your face as your stomach did a flip and heart skipped a beat at his words. 

“Me too.” You whispered softly, pulling yourself into his embrace and resting your head against his chest, still swaying. Quinn placed a delicate kiss to the top of your head, your hands now intertwined again on either side of you. 

“I want nothing more than to spend more time with you exploring places like this, and even expanding our family.” He said pulling away and giving that same, familiar look in his gaze. 

Your one eyebrow raised in question, “Is that so?” You pressed jokingly, as you couldn’t help but smile in such adoration for the brunette. 

“More than.” He smiled, pulling you into another tight, warm embrace.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! feel free to send in requests! 🫶🏻

[eyesthatroll]

CANN U PLZ WRITE QUINN AND HIS GF HAVING HOT TOB SEXXHWINDIS PLZLZLZ

HOT TUB ANTICS

overview: a relaxing night in the hot tub with quinn turns into something more. (+ the origin of this picture)

warnings: smut! MDNI (18+pls guys), dirty talk, thigh riding, unprotected sex, etc.

note: ooo the thoughts i had running though my head when i saw this picture and then this request came though i swear i almost blew up. also this is not proofread because it's 12:40 am and i have class tomorrow :)

wc: 2.5k

You were struggling to tie the laces of your bikini top when you heard a knock on your door.

“Y/N? The tub’s ready.” Quinn called out, his hand lingering on the knob as he waited for your response.

He heard your grumble before it was followed with, “Can you help me?”. Turning the knob, he walked in, trying his best to keep his composure as the loose top barely covered your breasts, the bottoms doing little to nothing to cover your ass. 

“Quinn?” You smirked, noticing his stare. 

“Huh? Sorry,” He replied sheepishly, making his way over to you. 

Four years of dating and he still got distracted when he saw you like this. He brought his hands up, his fingers finding the laces of your top, bringing them around your back. He did quick work of tying it together, a smirk appearing on his face as you brought your hands up to adjust the padding that covered your boobs. You had pulled one side forward a little too much, allowing Quinn to catch a quick peek at your nipple. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the top of your head. “You can’t do that, baby.”

“Do what?” You asked innocently. 

“You’re such a tease.” He laughed, “C’mon. The water’s gonna get cold."

You smiled and grabbed the towels you had waiting on the edge of the bed, taking Quinn’s hand as he guided you downstairs. Thankfully, it was pretty late at night so the house was quiet, everyone upstairs sleeping or passed out due to the drinking they had done throughout the course of the night. 

When Quinn slid open the glass door, the Michigan air flowing into the warm air of the house. A small breeze caught your abdomen, causing your arms to bring the towels up in front of you in an attempt to reserve your heat. Quinn laughed, taking the towels from you and putting a hand around your lower back to guide you outside. 

He set the towels down, taking both of your phones and putting them on top of the stack before dipping a foot in, the other following suit. When the water came up to the middle of his torso, he stuck his hand out, asking for yours so he could guide you in. The warm water felt amazing, so it didn’t take long for you to join him fully. 

Quinn took a set along the benches instilled in the tub, watching as you stood in the center, allowing the lower half of your body to acclimatize before taking a seat beside him. You let your head rest on his shoulder, the palm of his hand coming to rest on your thigh. 

“I missed this.” You sighed, your muscles relaxing as he turned the jets on the lowest level, the pressured water shooting against your backs. 

Quinn chuckled, hand shifting around your waist to mess with the bows of your bikini, “The hot tub? It does feel nice.”

“No. Well, yes, but I meant you.” You smiled, “Missed being this close to you.”

Quinn gave your thigh a squeeze, “Me too. M’sorry this summer is kinda all over the place.”

“It’s okay. I see you all year, anyway.” 

That was true. He had asked you to move in after two years of being together. Summers always gave you mixed feelings, though. Some days you’d get to be around him one hundred percent of the time, while others you’d only see him for some or not at all. You’d always appreciated his drive, and his determination to not only be better for himself but for his team. But summers were meant to be relaxing, an outlet for everything hockey. Loving him just meant adjusting to his passion, and that was no problem for you. 

Quinn reached over your shoulder, grabbing his phone, and handing it to you before letting his hand drop to your side, toying with the strings of your bikini yet again. “Play something.” You unlocked it, opening up Spotify and putting on the playlist you two had created together on shuffle. It was a slow, sensual song that had played the first time the two of you had sex and suddenly the close contact between the two of you felt too far. Your thighs rubbed together, hoping he wouldn’t notice. But it was Quinn. He noticed everything about you. 

He threw his head back with a soft laugh, lulling it back to the side to look at you with his green eyes, the blue lights of the tub making them seem brighter, “You okay over there, baby?”

You looked over at him, a desire lingering in your gaze. You brought a hand up to his cheek, cupping it softly as you shifted closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. He smiled against your mouth, both hands coming to the side of your waist, effortlessly bringing you onto his lap, your legs on either side of him. Your hands came up to his hair as the kiss quickly went from slow and passionate to rushed and desperate. You wanted to take your time, but something about the way he held you and the music in the background had you yearning for him.

Quinn pulled back, and before you could complain, he was trailing kisses down the column of your neck, marking your skin wherever he could. His lips landed on a particularly sensitive spot, a soft moan passing your lips as your hands gripped at his hair. You could feel his cock twitch against your core through his shorts, your hips grinding down to meet the movement. 

“Stop moving.” He groaned, “You’re gonna make me cum in my pants.”

Per his request, you stopped moving, not wanting this to come to an end before it even got started. Instead, you shifted your position so that instead of being straddled across both of his legs, you were only around one. You pressed down, rocking your hips forward. The friction of his muscle against your clit was enough to have your head feeling dizzy, your hands dropping from his hair to his shoulders. He knew you could get off like this, and he wasn’t about to stop you. 

“So desperate to get off already, hm? And I’ve barely even touched you.”

His deep voice had you speeding up already, moans slipping past your parted lips as Quinn’s hands gripped your waist impossibly tighter, most likely leaving bruises you would feel in the morning.

“Quinn…” You moaned, your forehead coming down to rest on his shoulder. 

He could feel the warmth of your breath meeting his skin that sat above the water, his hands now guiding your movements as he felt you slowing down. “Tell me how bad you need me right now, sweet girl. Wanna hear it from you.”

You were never one to feel embarrassed in the bedroom, but you felt exposed out in the hot tub. There weren’t any cameras and everyone was asleep inside, but something about not having the privacy of four walls had you second-guessing yourself. 

“C’mon. Don’t go all quiet on me now,” He encouraged, his thigh tensing in an attempt to give you more courage. “Tell me how desperately you need me to fuck you.”

His words alone made you moan louder than intended. You turned your head, your cheek now to his shoulder as you peered up at him through your lashes. He copied you, twisting his neck to meet your soft gaze. The desperation in your eyes almost caused him to cum in his pants right then and there. 

“Please, Q.” You whined, your eyes fluttering as you tried to keep them open. “Need to feel you inside of me.”

He smirked, “Yeah? Want me to fuck you?”

You nodded, your orgasm creeping up on you as you tried to answer him. He could feel it – the way your thighs tensed even more, your nails digging into his skin and your noises becoming louder as he moved your hips faster. 

“M’gonna cum, Quinn!” You cried, your movements stuttering against his thigh.

Quinn placed a kiss on your cheek, “Go for it, Y/N. Let go for me.”

The second the words left his mouth you felt the knot in your stomach snap. A stream of moans leaving your throat as Quinn guided your hips, his sweet praises making it feel all that much better. 

You brought your right hand up from his shoulder, your fingers curling around the curve of the side of his neck. Pressing yourself up, you connected your lips once again, this time the pressure feeling softer as your legs shook against his thigh.

“Did so good.” He cooed, kissing you once more before shifting you off his leg, his hands coming down to slide his shorts down to rest at his ankles. Once he adjusted himself to the bare feeling, he brought his hands over to you, undoing the bows he had been toying with all night as he slipped your bottoms off effortlessly.

He didn’t have to do a thing, your body naturally gravitating back towards him as you swung a leg around his waist yet again. 

Your eyes caught his, silently asking him for permission. He didn’t answer, simply resorting to guiding your hips down against him, his cock slipping into you inch by inch. Quinn let out a groan, the feeling of your warmth around him had his head reeling. 

The music had simply become background noise by now, the only thing that mattered to the two of you being how perfectly you felt against each other. 

“It’s like you were made for me, beautiful.” He praised once he was fully inside of you. 

You nodded, blinking your eyes open to look at him. “I’m yours, Quinn. Only yours.”

The words were too sweet for the moment, but he blushed them nonetheless. He slowly thrusted up, the movement feeling experimental, his next one being just as slow. The pace was enough for you both to feel good, but not enough for you to get off. Which is just what he wanted. Quinn wanted to take his time, appreciating your body and the way you felt while this close to him. 

He didn’t want it to end. 

You let him bask in his thoughts, your body shifting forward as you left little kisses across his chest. Not enough to leave marks, but enough to have his stomach tingle at the feeling of your soft lips. You knew how much he had started to like having his shirt off when in the sun, so you decided to leave him with a little soft mark on his chest that could easily be confused for a red patch he often got. 

Your lips moved upward, kissing softly at his neck before shifting up to nip at his ear. Something about the feeling had his thrusts falter slightly, his need to fill you up slowly becoming overwhelming. 

Quinn’s movements sped up, his length dragging just a tad bit faster into you, the water starting to splash the slightest bit as soft groans escaped his chest. “So fucking perfect.”

His words made you smile, your eyebrows furrowing at the increase in speed. “I love you so much, handsome.”

His hands rounded from your waist to your ass, each hand grabbing a handful as he pulled you up, maneuvering your body to meet his hips. 

The adjustment caused him to go deeper, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside you that had you gasping his name. Your sounds became uncontrollable and the fact that they were flowing straight into Quinn’s ear didn’t help his composure at all. 

He knew he wouldn’t be holding out much longer, stomach tensing as you clenched tighter around him, but he was never one to cum before you, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. 

Quinn brought one hand back around, fitting it in between your bodies as his thumb began to circle your clit. You wailed, biting your lip to try and keep yourself under control as your orgasm built up again, the task becoming increasingly harder the faster he moved. 

“Need you to let go for me, baby.” He sighed, his cock drilling into you, “Please just cum for me again. Know you can do it.” 

His encouragement had your brain flooding out anything that wasn’t Quinn. All you could focus on were his panting breaths, and the way his eyes fluttered shut as his lips parted further. The sight alone had all your composure crumbling, a feeling of euphoria overtaking your body. 

Quinn felt your pussy clenching around him. The all-familiar feeling had his muscles tensing, his cock halting inside of you as he let himself go, his cum spurting thick ropes of white into you. 

The feeling of him leaking out of you was disguised by the jets of the hot tub, the pressure from them cleaning your exposed skin. You panted against his mouth, the feeling of his mustache tickling the tip of your nose.

Quinn blinked his eyes open as you backed up, your eyes drinking in the man in front of you. Your fingers traced his cheekbones before eventually finding their home in his hair.

He smiled at the sight of you, “You look so fucking perfect on top of me.”

You giggled, warmth rising to your face, “Don’t get used to it, that was exhausting.” 

“You barely did anything!” He laughed, eyes widening in fake disbelief. 

The laughter died down, both of you fully embracing the moment. You kissed him yet again, slower this time, basking in the way his – now swollen– lips felt against yours.

You reached to your side, this time grabbing your phone as you opened your camera app. Holding the phone out beside the two of you, you kissed the tip of his nose as your thumb hit the button to snap a picture. You didn’t look at it before kissing his lips, snapping yet another picture. 

“What are you doing?” Quinn asked, looking over at your phone as you seized the moment and kissed his cheek, getting another picture of him smiling at the feeling. 

“Documenting,” You smiled, “You look so good.”

He laughed as he brought the phone in front of his face, putting the .5 setting on and laughing as you caught the moment. “I wanna get one with just you in here, hang on.”

You pressed yourself up, allowing his cock to slip out of you, a sigh leaving both your lips. He pulled his shorts up as you tied your bikini bottoms back around your waist. You stood up, leaving the warmth of the water and circling around the hot tub to capture Quinn in all his beauty. 

After a few shots, Quinn picked up his phone trying to look busy.  “Okay, look at you modeling for me.” You teased, a smile creeping up on his face as you snapped yet another picture, before rejoining him in the water.