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hischierlin · 15 days ago

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maddie 🥹🥹 this had me on the edge of my seat!!!! AND DAMN

i miss this family so much reading about them all worrying and talking sense to him again really has me in a tight grip and luke folding laundry is very dear to me you have no idea 🙂‍↕️ and this series as a whole is very dear to me!!!

you went so deep with the flashbacks i felt everything maia felt in those moments and as heart crushing as it was, you captured both sides so well in there too, and i drew conclusions on why nico acted the way he did. but nico be prepared i'll be breaking the 4th wall as a reader to hit you with your mouthguard!!!! maia needs a hug and me too...❤️‍🩹

"I just fixed your face and I don't feel like doing it again", i feel a lot of ways about this line for some reason

again i can't wait for them to be back again!!

Double Minor

All Too Well Series, Part 4

Content Warnings: swearing, crying, sadness, angst, alcohol and mentions of being drunk and hungover

Word Count: 2.7k

Note: okay, so I was originally not going to have Nico explain the whole ordeal to the audience, but I thought it set a good stage for the breakup, so enjoy your angst and sadness with a side of hope I guess?

For @hischierlin because she left me the sweetest message on the last chapter and I lost it

There was a crystal tumbler–empty, Luke noticed��that he couldn’t stop staring at.

It was glowing, kind of, in the light that came through the wall of windows. It looked angelic, almost, as Nico picked it up, going to take a sip before noticing it was empty. He huffed a laugh and set the glass back down.

Jesper mumbled something under his breath.

Nico swayed a little, which seemed impossible–he was sitting–but somehow he made it happen. He looked toward Jesper. “Hmm?”

“You don’t even drink.”

Nico nodded drunkenly. “Hmm, only for celebrations. And this day. This day, every year. For eight years.”

What the hell had happened eight years ago?

“Nico–” Jack began.

“I listen to our song. I drink. And I think about how I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.”

A silence settled over the room.

Nico snorted. “For those of you who don’t know, or haven’t guessed by now–” Luke assumed this meant him, because he seemed to be the only one confused “--today is our anniversary.” Nico glanced at Luke, and then away. “Mine and Maia’s.”

“Like, Maia Maia?”

The words burst from Luke without the permission of his brain, and he promptly flushed red as Jack elbowed him in the stomach. Nico, meanwhile, just laughed again. The hollow sound rang throughout the room.

“Yeah. That Maia.”

Silence again. Apparently, Luke’s brain wasn’t happy with that. It started making him do things all on his own.

“Oh. I mean–how? When? What happened?”

Nico turned to Luke and stood, stumbling a bit before righting himself. He ran a hand through his messy hair and started toward the kitchen. “We were both eighteen. It was years ago. It ended when I was twenty-two and she was twenty-one.” He sighed. “I made a mistake.” Then he added, softly, “I made a lot of mistakes.”

***

Maia shouldn’t have felt sad. She really shouldn’t have. She didn’t know why she did.

Maybe it was the effort. Nico had been named Captain–she’d gone to the game. It had been a loss, and as was usual, she’d taken her car home and not driven with Nico, since he had to be at the arena so early. Despite the loss, Nico had been in good spirits when she’d left him, which meant it was supposed to be a good night to keep with her plans.

She’d managed to get an extra jersey from the team’s equipment manager. Once he knew who she was, he was more than happy to help. On the jersey, Nico’s new captain’s patch was sewn loud and proud. She’d worn it to the game, and then, as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror and nervously fiddled with her hands, she was wearing nothing but that.

She didn’t know why she was so nervous at the time; it wasn’t like they’d never, well, you know. So why did this time feel different? Was it because of the jersey? She hadn’t ever worn his jersey before, she didn’t think.

It didn’t matter. In the end, when Nico had opened up the door, he’d expressed the fact that he wasn’t in the mood after the loss. Maia had understood, hiding her disappointment. This was his choice, after all. He didn’t have to do anything. They were both adults.

So why was she so sad?

***

It was the little things that had built up their relationship, and in the end, it was the little things that tore it apart.

Nico started leaving earlier, coming home later. He was quieter. Less affectionate. She made dinner, but he missed it. She told him things about her day, about things she had planned, but he forgot. He was dismissive. It all came to a head one night.

She’d told him about dinner. She’d made the plans, because she knew he wouldn’t be able to, and she understood that. He was a hockey player–he had a ridiculous amount of stress on his shoulders, trying to make sure the Devils had a good season, trying to be a leader, trying to keep himself together. She understood that. She supported him as much as she could, did everything she could for him, since she wasn’t actively working and she was trying to get her degree as fast as possible.

So she made the reservations, and he said he’d meet her there, that practice was running late, and that he was sorry. That he’d be there soon.

She believed him, until the waiter told her that they had to close the restaurant. She hadn’t even eaten–she’d been waiting for him. The waiter was kind enough, it seemed, to send her home with a fantastic seafood pasta in a to-go box and a look that suggested that he pitied her down to her very core.

He’d been hours late, and even when she got back to the apartment, she wasn’t mad. She was resigned. She knew it could happen. Maybe his coach was making them run extra drills. Maybe he was still with the athletic trainer. Maybe he’d be there any minute.

The pasta got cold, so she reheated it. She put it into two bowls, since she only had the one portion, and she didn’t have the energy to make something new for the both of them. She sat at the table, still in a nice dress, hair done, makeup on. She didn’t even take off her heels.

She waited.

More hours passed.

She ate the pasta. Her portion, then his. She waited. Waited some more.

Laid her head on the kitchen table. Told herself it would only be for a minute. It was well past midnight–it was okay to relax, just for a minute. Nico would be there soon, and he’d eat, and then they’d cuddle up in bed. It didn’t have to be special, she supposed–she loved him. Cuddling was fine.

She woke up to the sound of the door opening.

Nico walked in, hair disheveled, practice bag over his shoulder. The light from the windows was streaming in all around them. It was morning.

She was still at the kitchen table.

She stood. Nico came over, rubbing a hand over his face. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, Müüsli. I had to sleep at a teammate’s house. I forgot to text you.” He was still blinking sleep from his eyes. “Practice ended late and some of the guys went out. I went to make sure they didn’t do anything stupid.”

Maia froze.

She could have forgiven him for being late, for being tired and crashing. But he’d gone out, with his teammates. With his friends.

She stood. “We had plans.” She felt odd in her body, light and heavy and hot and cold, all at the same time.

“I know. I’m sorry. We can have dinner this week, yeah? Make another reservation and I’ll–”

“Do you even know what the dinner was for?” She cut him off.

Nico shifted uneasily. “I know I’ve been busy lately.”

“It was our anniversary.”

The sentence sucked the air out of the room.

Nico swallowed. Set his practice bag down. Searched for words.

“I planned everything,” Maia told him. “My clothes. Yours. I made the reservation. I was there on time, and even when you were late, I forgave you. Because you’re busy. Because you’re the captain, and sometimes that means staying late.” Your voice caught. “Nico, I waited.”

“I–”

“I waited for hours. The waiter had to escort me out because the restaurant was closing. I got looks all night from people. They pitied me. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?” Maia was crying in earnest now. “I even waited here for you. But you didn’t even come. Did you even know it was our anniversary?”

Nico swallowed. Shifted. “I forgot.”

Maia let out a breath she’d been holding for far too long and a sob came out with it. She wasn’t sure who was standing in front of her anymore, because this wasn’t the Nico she’d met three years ago. This wasn’t the Nico she loved. This wasn’t her Nico.

She wasn’t really sure who he was anymore, to be honest.

“Nico…I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?”

“I can’t keep waiting for you to come home. I can’t keep planning all of our own special moments by myself. I can’t keep wondering where the man I fell in love with is, because he’s sure as hell not standing in front of me.”

“Müüsli, I–”

“You what? You’re sorry? You’re always sorry, Nico, but nothing ever changes, and I can’t stay in this neverending spin cycle anymore.” She wiped at her face. “I’m done.”

“Müüsli–”

“Don’t!” Maia's shoulders shook with sobs, and she turned to grab her keys. She was sure that she looked ridiculous, all dressed up with her hair mussed and her skin damp with tears. Her voice softened. “Just don’t, Nico.”

Maia walked out.

He didn’t chase her.

That didn’t mean that Nico would ever forget the sound of the front door slamming, though. No, he’d remember that for the rest of his life, as long as he lived. He’d hear it in his dreams, in his nightmares, with every bang against the boards.

He’d hear the door slam on his future a million more times, but at least he learned not to flinch.

***

“You’ve never told me the whole thing before.”

It was Jack who spoke first. He seemed a little stunned at the words that had poured out of Nico’s mouth. He was drunk–probably closer to hungover, at this point, but semantics–but Luke could tell that what he was saying was the truth.

“Yeah, well, it’s not a fairytale.” Nico sighed.

“You know you’re not missing this game, right?”

Those were spoken by Bratter, who seemed to have no filter.

He turned his gaze on his captain. “You’re not missing this game. You’re not wallowing. You don’t get to drink yourself into oblivion.” He stood. “I will stay here all day if I have to, but you’re going to sober up, and you’re going to go out onto the ice tonight, because this?” Jesper gestured at him. “This is just…”

“Pathetic,” Jack finished for him.

Timo seconded that, and Luke nodded slowly.

“Team effort,” he added lamely.

Timo shoved Nico into the shower fully clothed and let the captain sort it out, since he smelled like a distillery. Jesper and Jack set about cleaning up the apartment, tossing the empty bottles in the trash and moving any remaining alcohol to a very inconvenient location, even for a tall hockey player. Luke was straightening up Nico’s room, having somehow ended up folding all the laundry strewn everywhere and tossing anything dirty into the hamper. He was shaking his head at how he managed to end up in the situation, shoving a pair of socks in his friend’s drawer when–

Oh, shit.

Please don’t let that be what I think it is.

Luke’s curiosity got the best of him, and he grabbed what he felt in the drawer.

Oh, he really shouldn’t have.

The box was light blue, smooth and velvet lined. The ring nestled inside could’ve been seen from the moon, the diamond was so large. The thing had to have cost a fortune. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

I made a lot of mistakes, his friend had said.

Had buying the ring been one of them? Or was it not giving Maia the ring that was the mistake.

“Put it back.”

Luke started, clutching the box in his hands. “I–”

“That’s alright, Luke.” Nico’s hair was still wet from the shower, like he hadn’t even dried it. It was dripping all over the floor, all over his shirt, making his clothes wet. “Just put it back, and we can pretend that I kept a little bit of my dignity today, yeah?” Nico smiled weakly. “Don’t tell anyone. That secret’s the one that hurts the most.”

Luke put the box back where he’d found it and didn’t say another word.

***

In all honesty, had Nico not still been a little hungover, he might’ve been able to dodge the high stick. But, well, he was still hungover. And when Tkachuk got his stick up, Nico was right there, a sitting duck.

The pain burst across his face immediately, and Nico stumbled back. He heard a whistle blow and brought a hand up to his cheek and lower lip, and it came back red.

Well, at least it would be a double minor.

Unfortunately, Keefe sent Nico down the tunnel for repairs immediately after.

He didn’t even make it to the hallway before Maia was meeting him, pressing a towel firmly against his cheek and ushering him into her office. He tried not to think about the fact that her hands were on him as she ordered him onto the exam table.

“Hold that there while I get a suture kit,” she told him. He did as he was told.

Nico’s head was spinning as he watched her rush around, grabbing a suture kit and some numbing spray.

“Don’t worry about the spray,” he told her, even as he winced. “I don’t want to wait for it to work.”

Conveniently, he heard the horn signaling the end of the second period right after he said that.

“Good thing you have fifteen minutes to wait then,” Maia told him sharply. “Lay back and move the towel.”

He did.

In all honesty, he thought it was going to take longer. But Maia was efficient. She wiped the cut, disinfected it–which stung–sprayed the numbing spray, and stitched him up.

It was only after she was done that Nico saw her hands shake.

She snapped off her gloves and went to wash her hands. “You’re good to go back, but you’re in a bubble for the rest of the game.”

Nico sat up, flabbergasted. “You want me to do what?”

“I just fixed your face and I don’t feel like doing it again.” Maia scrubbed harshly at her hands, and Nico watched them turn red under the hot water. “You’re in a bubble for the rest of the game, and until I say otherwise.”

“You can’t just–”

“Just wear the bubble!”

Nico froze.

Maia sighed. “What do you want me to say, Nico? That the high stick scared the shit out of me? That I saw you bleeding and froze? That I want you to wear the bubble so that you’re safe, because I’m selfish?” She shut off the water and twisted her hands in paper towels. “Because it’s true. All of those things are true.” She sighed, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were glassy. “So please just wear the bubble. For me, okay? Do this one thing for me.”

Nico swallowed. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Nico–”

“Today was our anniversary. I remembered. I remember every year, and think about how I let things fall apart because I was young and stupid and careless.” Nico couldn’t stop the words pouring out of his mouth. He felt like he was having an out of body experience. “It was my fault. It was all my fault, and I think about it every day, okay? And maybe you don’t want to try again and that’s fine, that’s your choice and I’ll respect it. But let me apologize. Let me take you out to dinner and apologize.”

“We can’t just–”

“If you don’t want to go alone with me, that’s okay. I’ll invite Bratter and his fiance. We can both go. You can talk to her and maybe be friends, because I know that Lacey lives in Canada now. I think that’d be good, having a friend down here.” Nico smiled sadly. “You can sewer me to her and she’ll support whatever you say.”

There was a long period of silence. So long, Nico closed his eyes and thought that Maia had left the room. Then:

“Bratter talks about his wife a lot. It’d be nice to meet her.”

Nico opened his eyes.

“I’ll go.” Maia sighed and gestured for Nico to stand. “It’s not a date. It’s not a celebration. It’s so that I can make a friend down here after being away for so long.” Her voice shook a little. “I think I really need a friend.”

#ly maddie!!!!#and dionne warwick's walk on by is the song playing in my head when i think of them ❤️‍🩹#FIC RECS

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hischierlin · 25 days ago

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reading this felt like coming back to 2 good friends you haven't seen in a while but the reunion was never awkard or weird because, you never outgrew them and you never will, and it’s that unmatching familiarity you feel towards both it's insane 💕💕 for everything you've done with this i'm megamixed by all eternity 🥺🥺🥺🥺 and you know what i love reading about you in your stories too because it's so raw and real, and most of the time i feel i'm cast in the same mold and that grips my heart too 💕

meg and mag 5ever!!!! 🤜🏻🤛🏻

Sunsets in the Summer (LH43)

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader (a follow up to LIH/TSOU - reading is encouraged but not required to enjoy)

WC: 9.6k

Description/Warnings: some brief snapshots into the LIH!lovers second summer together while they figure out their flow as a couple - fluffy, suggestive interactions and mentions of sexual acts (including some brief hand action but not a detailed description) with fade-to-black smut, no angst!! hallelujah (some brief insecurity but not expanded on enough to be angsty), usual amounts of sarcasm and banter and cursing probably- rushed tbh so doesn't flow too well but I think it's cute lmao

A/N: I WAS GOING TO QUEUE THIS TO POST WHILE I'M AWAY IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS BUT IT IS MEG'S BIRTHDAY SO I PUT MY ASS TO WORK TO GET THIS DONE!!! PURE FLUFFY BLISS FOR THE ICON THE LEGEND AND THE MOMENT HERSELF!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY @star2fishmeg I LOVE YOU A LOT HOPE YOU HAVE YOUR DOLLS TO HAND AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! (if anyone reading this hasn't already send your love to meg bc she deserves it!! from the day I posted LIH part 1, she's been nothing but supportive and wonderful to me, and 3 seconds on her page will show you she's one of the kindest-natured and most wonderful people on here)

I had a couple requests for Luke and LIH!reader's first proper date, and one that was for how they spend their summer, so I sort of combined them to create this, it's a bit of an unstructured jumble of little moments between them, but I hope you guys don't mind it turned into a hybrid of requests! If you do want me to write individual moments feel free to send in another request, I don't really ever want to let these two go!! But to answer the question about their first date specifically - I genuinely think they just jump right into cutesy/dorky date nights, and Luke would eventually deep that they haven't done anything ~grown together - which is where the idea for the end of this really came from 💕

It doesn’t take long for you and Luke to get into a routine once you’ve come back out to Michigan in the summer.

You spend most of your days together - aside from when he’s at a check up or a physio appointment, or you’re out with Ellie or a few of your other friends still lingering in the area - and end up back in the same place every night - curled up against Luke’s good side in bed, your leg slung over his, and your face smushed into his peck by the time you wake in the morning.

Except for the few times he’s up before you.

Like now, when your eyes flutter open slowly to an empty space beside you.

His pillow is a little crinkled, his sheets are haphazardly straightened back out, and the spot where he had been laid is still warm - so you know he can’t be far.

After relieving your bladder and brushing your teeth, you slip into a shirt he had strewn across the chair of the little vanity he had set up for you, letting it fall to the top of your thighs as you amble throughout the house with little regard for anyone else you might bump into.

You sort of have a one-track mind when it comes to mornings with your boyfriend, and you honestly forget to consider who might not want to catch a slight glimpse of your ass cheeks so early in the day.

You find him in the kitchen, as assumed, and you almost think you’re half asleep when you take in the state of him.

His hair is a soft but unruly mess, and his briefs are so barely pulled up you can almost see his ass cheeks - as perfect as they are - the structured muscles of his back almost forming an arrow to point down, and you can only see those muscles because he’s for some reason wearing one of your shirts. How he got that on, unassisted, with the sling, you’ll never know.

You’d laugh if it wasn’t so hot - if the fabric wasn’t stretched so tight across his broad shoulders that it makes him look even thicker.

And because you can’t laugh, you pretty much groan as you draw in on him, wrapping your arms around him from behind and pressing your face into his back.

“Morning, baby,” he drawls, his voice raspy and low, and good god, you’re fighting to consider the fact you aren’t alone in the house. You’d climb him like a god-damn tree already if you were.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his spine, your palms flat in the strip of stomach between your top and his briefs, and his skin is so warm you want to keep your hands there forever.

“Making you breakfast,” he says, wriggling a little out from your embrace so that he can show you - two slices of toast with unevenly chopped banana, and an adorable, crooked smiley face drawn on each one with honey.

You love him so much.

It must slip out without you even realising it because he turns in your hold, his free hand travelling slowly down your body until it lands at your hip and pull you flush to his, and he tells you that he loves you too.

He leans down for a kiss - sugary sweet, like he’d licked his fingers or something from the syrupy residue of honey on them - and you lean into it, revelling of the feeling of his large hand slowly curling around the back of you, fingers curling around the globes of your ass and squeezing.

And you let him turn the two of you until the base of your spine is pressed back into the counter, your hands running through his unruly curls and your tongue chasing more and more of the sweetness of his kiss.

“People eat in here,” you hear Jack as he steps into the kitchen, and you part from Luke slowly, slipping another peck against his lips before you glance around his slinged-shoulder at his older brother.

“What do you think we’re doing?”

You don’t even intend the double entendre, but seeing his face curl up in disgust almost makes it worth it.

“Too early for your crap, dude,” Luke huffs, his hand still in place, and you see him wince when he cranes his neck back.

“What is this, Freaky Friday?” Jack snorts as he opens the fridge, nodding towards the two of you and your weird clothes-swap mishap.

You bite your tongue to stop yourself mocking him straight back, and Luke spares you a knowing look as he waits for Jack to get what he assumes is the greek yoghurt he usually has for breakfast and go back upstairs.

He’s been getting on your last nerve all week, and he knows it.

Ellie is away on another family vacation, already, and you’re pretty sure Jack has formed an alliance with Quinn to cock-block you and Luke to fill his time, but you’re hardly gonna point the finger.

You’re trying to be better.

“Freaky Friday is where they swapped lives, not clothes.”

“You knew what I meant,” Jack huffs, slamming the fridge closed behind him and glaring at the two of you as he grabs a spoon out of the cutlery drawer for his yoghurt. “You look like a dork.”

“You-,”

And Luke’s hand on your ass squeezes before you can carry on, like a warning.

“Don’t you all have training this morning?”

“Gonna be leaving in ten,” Jack confirms, “So if you two could maybe wait until we’re gone to be gross, we’d all appreciate it.”

You press your lips together, a sardonic smile flashed toward him when he smirks over at you, and you watch as he retreats - the tension only seeping from your shoulders when he’s out of sight and out of mind.

“Maybe that can be our thing,” Luke leans forward and mumbles into the curve of your neck, just low enough for the sound not to travel in case Jack is still around, and the combination of his hand grazing the soft flesh of your thigh beneath the hem of his t-shirt, and the way his lips just brush the sensitive skin below your ear makes your breath hitch in your throat. “Freaky Fridays,”

Your eyes flutter shut as you shudder against his him, “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t talking about swapping clothes?”

“We could have a fuck-it list,” and you can hear the smirk without even opening your eyes to look at him, “Cross off all sorts of positions while everyone’s out training on Friday mornings,”

“You’re not gonna be in that sling forever, babe,” you chuckle, finally looking up at him craning your neck a little due to the proximity, and he stays leaning, your nose almost bumping his where he’s in the same position. “You’re gonna end up joining them at some point.”

“All the more reason for us to get started immediately,” his eyes glimmer with mischief when you meet them, “No time to waste.”

You can’t even bring yourself to fight it when he’s looking at you like that - all charming and intentional - not that you want to, anyway. You’re not oblivious to how weirdly fortunate the two of you are to be in this situation, as much as his injury was upsetting at first. It’s the only reason you have so much alone time with him, even this early in the summer.

And you’ve been limited thus far - the start of your relationship being a little jumpy between the end of his season, the end of your school year, and everything that followed with his injury and you going back home. You’ve barely had the opportunity to bask in the honeymoon period - especially now that you’re at the house and his brothers are around.

“Fine,” you acquiesce, “Fuck it.”

The two of you barely make it the promised ten minutes before he’s propped up against the headboard of the bed you now share, and you’re straddling his lap - following the seams of his sling along his chest with kisses that make his spine tingle, and he’s listing off all the positions he says he’s wanted you in since you first hooked up last year.

While the two of you slowly work your way through Luke’s Fuck-It List - a little limited when it comes to his current lack of mobility - you also make more of an effort to do things just the two of you.

It starts with movies, because of course it does, and Luke insists you go to watch them at the actual movie theatre. You share a bucket of popcorn, and you rest comfortably under his arm slung over your shoulders, and it all feels so normal and right.

And you do that a couple of times before you decide to switch it up a bit. If you’re going to be making the conscious effort to start up date nights, you should really be trying out different things, you think.

Which is what has you sat behind the wheel of Luke’s BMW and driving him to an undisclosed destination, drowning out his constant questions about it by turning the radio up, and singing along to his country music playlist he’s been forcing on you for too long, now.

You’re quite proud of this idea for a first attempt, and you can’t help but glance over to gauge his reaction when you pull up to the venue and put the car into park. He’s quiet as he works his way out of the car, still insistent on being a gentleman and opening your door despite his shoulder.

“Mini golf?” He asks as he helps you out of the car, his fingers interlacing with yours as you hit the gravel and bump the driver’s side door shut with your hip. “This is your genius date idea?”

“You said you felt left out at the course,” you pout, sidling up beside him until you’re pressed together, craning your neck up a little to meet his eye, “I wanted to give you the next best thing while you’re still in the sling.”

“I’d still need two working arms for a putter, babe,” he chuckles, lifting his arm over your head with your hand still in his until it’s wrapped around your shoulder, your hips bumping as you walk side by side up to the kiosk.

“You could beat me with no arms and a blindfold, I’m pretty sure,” you tell him, “But if you want to go somewhere else we can, I just thought this would be cool. It’s nice out tonight, and I don’t think there’s any chance of your brothers gatecrashing.”

Luke hums, leaning a little to press his lips to the side of your head, “It is nice to get out from under Quinn’s supervision,” he agrees, and you smile up at him when you register the levity of his tone. “Can barely look at you without him having something to say about it.”

“Imagine the scandal if you knocked me up at mini golf,” you gasp, and he gives one of those easy, heart warming laughs that almost make you stumble in your step. “We might have to fake a scare, just to send him into cardiac arrest.”

“You’re evil.”

“You’re the one who loves me,” you shrug, reaching into your back pocket for your phone when you reach the cashier, keeping a hold of Luke’s good hand despite him trying to pull it away so he can’t sneak his own card forward to pay. The teenager behind the counter hands over two putters and two balls without even glancing up from his own phone, and you twirl out from under Luke’s arm, pulling him up the path toward the start of the course.

“You gonna let me stand behind you and tell you what to do?” He asks as he follows you, smiling despite the fact you’re facing away from him at the quick burst of laughter you release.

“When have I ever let you tell me what to do?”

“Was worth a try,” and he’s still smiling, big and broad, when you swivel back on your heels to face him. You drop his hand to give the putter over, and throw the balls down onto the start of the first hole, kicking one onto the line and the other off to the side.

“I’ll tell you what,” you look up at him as you step closer, “Why don’t we make things interesting?”

“Interesting, how?” He smirks, a teasing tilt of his head causing your lips to twitch up.

“I don’t know,” you hum, edging just a little more toward him, “Winner gets-,”

“Head,” he finishes, almost immediately, and your eyes widen in response, hardly expecting the speed in which it comes out of him. It’s not exactly like the two of you haven’t been intimate back at the house - you’re making steady progress with the list - but there is the whole hardly ever alone thing to consider. “In the car, so no one back home can interrupt.”

“That was quick,” you snort, pressing your fingertips into the flat surface of his belly, avoidant of his sling, feeling the ridges of definition beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’ve been giving that a lot of thought, huh?”

“Got a lot to time to think when we’re in the car and I’m not the one driving,” he explains, “Don’t have to focus on the road, so I get to look at you,” he coos, craning his neck a little and seemingly pushing past the slight discomfort when he does so, dipping to your level, “Get to think about your pretty mouth when you’re singing along to the radio.”

And it makes your spine tingle, just how easy it is to slip in a sweet observation with something so forward. He’s so good at doing that - masking burning desire with gentle adoration.

“Fine, winner gets head,” you agree, extending onto your tiptoes to make closing the distance easier, and softly pecking at his waiting lips until you part with a teasing smile, because kissing him seems so much more efficient than a handshake to seal the deal.

“Beauty before brains,” he offers, pointing to the starting line with his putter and quickly avoiding your attempt at a playful shove.

You step up, anyway.

The first hole is an easy one, although you know from past experience at this exact course - a favourite amongst your sorority sisters for bonding activities - that there’s a trick to a good shot.

The last time you were here, you figured out that aiming for one of the stones that line the green is the key to a hole in one - and you shoot your shot with ease, the ball ricocheting off the surface and making its way straight to the desired target. All you can do is watch with a smile.

“Oh my God,” he groans, staring wide eyed as the ball putts and drop into the hole with an almost comical plonk, “You’re hustling me!”

“Who, me?” You gasp, feigning offence with a slacked jaw and widened eyes - both of which do little to hide the smile that’s twitching at the corners of your mouth. “I’d never.”

You bite your lip in amusement as he stands there, his gaze lingering on the course like he can’t quite believe you just potted a hole in one, already, and you amble up beside him, curling a hand around his free bicep and leaning up.

“You want me to stand behind you and tell you what to do?”

“You’re going down,” he scoffs, shrugging you off to tee himself up at the starting line.

“No, baby,” you call out, pointing your putter over to him as he looks back at you, his own pretty lips parted in defiance as you wink and tell him, “You are.”

You think it’s sort of embedded into the very fibres of your relationship that you and Luke will always resort back to movies - and for as much as you’ve been trying other options for dates, like the arcade where he thrashed you at air hockey, or the trips to the mall, where Luke thought buying one thing from each joint in the food court would be a good idea and you had to drive home with your jeans unbuttoned from the bloating - so it’s no surprise when the weather’s acting up, and you still don’t really like venturing out anywhere during a storm, Luke has the genius idea to finally sit you through the entire Star Wars movie franchise, beginning to end.

It’s something you’ve been putting off for a while, and it’s not that you’re against it, per se, but the thought of having to dedicate the brain power to remembering a bunch of random stuff almost gives you a headache.

The two of you are just settling in together on the couch, practically knotted up like pretzels with the way you’re snuggling up to him, when Jack and Quinn return from the store with Cole Caufield in tow.

“Sick, it’s like a home theatre in here,” Cole exclaims as he leads Quinn and Jack into the room, the eldest sibling biting back a knowing smile when he meets Luke’s horrified gaze, “What are we watching?”

“We’re not watching anything,” Luke gestures between the lot of them with his good hand around your shoulder, before he angles his head down toward you, “We’re watching Star Wars.”

“Prequels first?” Jack gasps as he reaches for the case by the TV, flashing the cover back over to you, “That’s not okay.”

“Good thing you’re not the one watching, Jack,” Luke argues back, and he visibly loses the will to argue when all three of them sink down onto the remaining couches and seemingly get comfortable. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

��It’s raining out, Luke, what else are we supposed to do?”

“Literally anything, anywhere else?”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, cozying up a little extra, because it sort of works in your favour to have them insert themselves into this situation. “They’re right, we can’t hog the TV.”

“Yeah, Lukey, you can’t hog the TV.”

You roll your eyes and ignore Jack, settling back into Luke’s side and absentmindedly stroking at his belly as the movie tees up - and what starts off as unintentional, innocent petting, slowly drifts as time ticks on.

“What are you doing?” Luke whispers covertly, eyes stuck on the screen as your fingers trace along the bare skin that is revealed between his hoodie and his sweats, scratching softly until you can move the elastic a little to unveil more of his hipbone.

You know you shouldn’t tease him - but your whole plan to get out of sitting through Star Wars in the first place was to try and distract him - and the only thing you can think of that’s worse than sitting through all three prequels is sitting through them with his brothers around.

“Just touching,” you whisper back innocently, nails tickling at what you know is very sensitive skin.

“You’re teasing,” he corrects you, a quick flash of a knowing gaze sent down at you, but his hips still shuffle beneath your touch - like he’s giving you further access - and your lips twist at the movement.

There are telltale signs of arousal - sharp intakes of breath when your touch travels a little too low to be innocent, the constant rolling of his neck and shoulders like he’s trying to keep his head in the game, and, obviously, a shift in the front of his sweatpants, a subtle, gradual tent forming beneath the fabric that becomes harder and harder to ignore, no pun intended.

“You don’t seem to mind.”

Luke sighs as he shuffles again, his eyes darting to where his brothers and Cole sit on the other couches, making sure none of them are looking before he looks back down at you.

Your eyes lock on his as you bite back a smile - a wordless agreement between you both taking place, and you wriggle up a little, yourself, from where you’re situated against his side - high enough that you can sort of cover the movement of your hand with the rest of your body, and press a firm kiss the the sharp line of his jaw.

He can’t help the satisfied hum that comes out when your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his pants, edging down slowly, and it only takes a second to realise he isn’t even wearing underwear.

You try not to giggle into his flesh, nipping playfully as you move in your ministrations.

He probably had no intention of sitting the whole way through Star Wars, himself - not tonight, at least.

“Who’s teasing now?” You barely even make a sound, so close to his ear that you don’t need to and he can make out what you’re saying, “Commando, Luke, really?”

He smirks, and you see the smile settle as he stays looking forward.

“You get handsy when you’re bored.”

“Oh, now I’m predictable?”

He glances down before he meets your eye again, quirking his brow in a wordless response, as if to say, am I wrong?

And the only way to bite back a scoff is to kiss him - a kiss that starts out soft and subtle, but escalates before you even realise. His palm caresses your cheek, long, slender fingers tucking your hair behind your ear, your hand is down his pants, and your tongue is in Luke’s mouth, his soft lips closing around the muscle until the sloppy sound of him sucking on it is too loud to mask.

And then you’re knocked out of your reverie with a harsh smack of a pillow against your back - the two of you darting apart and your hands slipping out from under his waistband.

“What the fuck?” Luke whines, and you both glare in the direction of the other three guys in the room - the three guys you, honestly, shamefully forgot were even there for a second.

“Knock it off, you’re being gross.” Jack frowns, leaning differently in the absence of a cushion behind him.

“Yeah, keep it PG, you two,” Quinn adds, “I’m under strict instruction to keep an eye on you both.”

“Ew,” you frown, “It’s giving Peeping Tom.”

“No, it’s not,” he scoffs, despite the way Luke snorts out laughter from beside you, “It’s giving responsible older brother.”

“It’s giving dude who isn’t getting laid,” Cole chimes in, and you and Luke simultaneously hum in agreement just to annoy Quinn even further.

If they’re all going to intrude on your date night, the two of you may as well have your fun with it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Quinn turns his attention to the blonde currently lounging back into the opposite couch, “Do you want to sit here all night and witness those two swapping spit and getting handsy?”

“I can think of worse ways to spend my Friday,” Cole shrugs, and the rest of you all let out some form of grossed out exclamation - Luke shuffling out from beneath you to throw the pillow back in his general direction - watching as it smacks straight against Cole’s face and cuts off whatever the hell he’s about to add onto that about you.

“We’re going upstairs,” Luke huffs, pushing himself up off the couch and grabbing your hand - and you don’t put up any sort of protest, obviously,letting him drag you behind him as he throws out a, “You’re on a 24 hour timeout from even looking at my girlfriend,” he jabs a pointed finger towards Cole, and you bite back a smile at how hot you find his possessiveness - a trait he so rarely lets take over, but you can’t help but get excited when he does.

And as gross as the thought of Caufield watching you was - and as much as you sort of know he’s joking - you’re honestly thankful, because Luke isn’t the kind of guy to let that slide when you’re both safe behind the closed door of your shared bedroom, and he’s pushing you back onto the bed before you even have a chance to think about it.

“Are you done yet?”

“Almost.”

You watch Luke’s tongue poke out of his mouth in concentration as he dramatically swipes the paintbrush against the canvas you set up for him earlier - the bare back of which has been taunting you for at least fifteen minutes since you finished your own portrait.

Tiktok said this would be cute.

Painting each other as you share a pizza and sip at what is quite honestly a borderline undrinkable glass of wine - you won’t be trusting Luke on a liquor store run ever again.

But you probably overestimated your creative abilities.

Your portrait of Luke looks like a haunted blob of sickly pale skin and messy brown curls, and the longer he takes to paint you, the longer it stares back at you and you hate it.

He’s gonna hate it - and what was supposed to be a sweet, stay-at-home date idea, turned into something stupid.

You feel stupid, and maybe it’s the extra fifteen minutes he’s spent perfecting his creation that’s making you feel worse.

“It isn’t being hung in the Louvre, Luke,” you roll your eyes, leaning forward onto the table with your chin tucked in the clammy palm of your hand.

“That’s what you think,” he snorts, finally laying the brush flat on the surface beside his easel and tilting his head to peak at you from the side. “I’m finished.”

“Okay, who’s going first?”

“Uhh,” he narrows his eyes at his own work before they flick back up to meet yours, “You first,”

And you can’t help but pout a little as you grasp at either side of the canvas, fingers clenching a little as you build up the nerve.

“I’m not an artist, okay,” you glance over at him, a begging look in your like a silent plea to take it easy on you, “It isn’t the best.”

“Baby,” he pouts back, “You could have smeared your boogers on there and I’d love it.”

“That’s disgusting,” you cringe, but the sentiment sort of helps you build up the courage to flip your easel around, wincing as you watch and wait for his reaction.

He stares at it for what feels like a whole minute, gaze going side to side and up and down like he’s taking in every single brushstroke, and you find yourself holding your breath in anticipation of his feedback.

“Do I have a lazy eye?”

“What? No,” you frown, quickly swivelling it back to take another look. His eyes are a little crooked - you’re drinking wine, you're bound to have a shaky hand - but you wouldn’t call them lazy. “Is it that bad?”

“It's no worse than mine," he snickers, pushing his chair back and nodding his head to the side of him - a gesture for you to come over, and when you do, and you're stood before him, he parts his legs for you to perch yourself on one of his thick, muscular thighs.

You circle your arms around his neck, trying to balance yourself and ignore the heat in his gaze when he watches you do such a mundane and routine thing, his hands gripping at your waist to help you.

“See,” he nods toward the painting, “I’d personally hang it on our wall but I think it’s obvious why.”

Despite the fact you don’t think you’ll ever get over him referring to anything in this house as part-yours, you manage to gloss over that small fact when you take in the monstrosity in front of you.

It’s so bad your jaw drops a little, and you try not to outwardly laugh to avoid offending him.

“Luke-,”

“Before you start-,”

“You started with my boobs didn’t you!” You accuse, swatting playfully at his chest as you let a smile overcome you.

“What?” He scoffs, “No, why would you think that?”

“They’re huge,” you snort, shuffling a little on his lap as he steadies you with a hand on your hip, “It’s like you painted them too big and ran out of room for everything else.”

You watch as a soft flush spreads across his cheeks, sheepish and self-conscious as he casts a glance back over his painting whilst trying to ignore your own eyes on him. His face scrunches a little, crinkles forming around his eyes and nose as he really takes in the lack of proportion, and you can’t help but smile at how cute he is.

“Alright, maybe I did,” he pouts, “Is that so bad?”

“I look like a balloon animal!”

“It is a little disproportionate,” he admits, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that makes you want to kiss it, and you roll your eyes to fight the urge. “We should have done naked paintings, then I’d be winning.”

“You wanna draw me like one of your French girls?” Your tone is still sultry as you mock him, and watching the slow, suggestive curve of his lips does little to fan out the flames of attraction in the pit of your belly. He’s so pretty, it’s stupid - especially up close, and that’s after you’ve spent the past 30 minutes glancing up at him to try and do justice to all the intricate, beautiful parts of his face with a cheap paint set and a brush that was falling apart.

No wonder you were so insecure about your attempt.

You don’t think there’s even a colour you could mix that would capture the unique hue of his irises - a soft combination of maybe blue, maybe green that you can’t even begin to think where you’d start when it came to creating it, yourself. And the smattering of little freckles and beauty marks that litter his skin - you’d never quite map that constellation correctly. The soft curl of his hair, the smooth curve of his lips, the unwavering dedication he has to whatever the hell is growing below his nose - you wouldn’t get it right in a million years.

Maybe him painting you as 70% boobs and 30% everything else is the better picture overall.

“Nah,” he smiles soft, his gaze drifting around your own face like he’s thinking the same thoughts - lingering on your mouth a little too long before he says, “Do wanna take you upstairs, though.”

You smile, too - easy and unwavering - and you feel a familiar heat creep up your neck before you press your lips to his in a slow, amorous kiss.

His knee bounces in a quick jolt as he responds, his hand rising to cup your face and hold you against him, mouth moving until his tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, deepening the moment into something neither of you would want to retreat from.

You honestly can’t remember life before he kissed you like this - how you ever even lasted a day of denying your feelings for him, because you don’t think you could ever love anyone like you love Luke.

It’s something that seems to consume you, regardless of where you are - whether it’s painting stupid portraits together or it’s watching movies or it’s sitting out on the deck chairs on the back porch and talking to his brothers - just his presence, just knowing he’s close by and the way he feels about you is exactly the same settles you beyond what you can put into words.

“Jesus Christ-,”

You both groan in frustration as you part, turning to glare at Jack as he interrupts you, the kitchen door swinging closed behind him.

“Quinn, they’re at it, again!” He calls out, lips curled in disgust as he makes his way over - empty beer bottles stuffed between his fingers that he throws into the recycling with a clink.

You don’t want to move from Luke’s lap, so as Jack nears the table, you don’t even think to get up - despite the fact that he’s heading straight for the painting you really don’t want to hear his criticisms of.

“How cute!” He coos, but you can see straight through him - his lips curling into a borderline sinister smile as he picks up the little canvas. “She even got your lazy eye, Lukey!”

“I knew it!” Luke gasps, his fingers squeezing at your sides, teasingly.

“Hey!” You shoot up, reaching over the table and snatching it from his grip before turning to your boyfriend. “I did not give you a lazy eye!”

“Did he paint that zit that’s coming in right there,” he points to his temple as his eyes narrow your way - and event though you know you don’t have a zit coming in, you bring your hand up to cover the side of your face, anyway.

“She doesn’t have a zit,” Luke defends you before you can do it, yourself, and your features soften just a touch when you glance his way.

“Let me see-,”

Jack reaches out for Luke’s painting, and the two of you leap forward to yank it away before he can get his hands on it, yelling out, “No!” In unison.

“It can’t be that bad, Luke,” he snorts, eyes narrowing on you in particular as your cheeks burn with embarrassment - it’s not like they’re your actual boobs, and it’s not like they’re even anatomically accurate, but you don’t want Jack of all people seeing you portrayed like that. “Mom kept your paintings on the fridge at home until like two years ago, I know you’re a shitty artist.”

“M’not a shitty artist,” Luke grumbles, specifically turning to you as you both still clutch one hand each at the canvas.

“I know, baby,” you coo, your tone overtly-sweet and sickly in a bid to make Jack’s stomach turn - and make him go away, “Don’t listen to Mr. Meany, he doesn’t get you like I do,” and then you lean back in to kiss him, your pout turning into a grin when you hear his brother’s exaggerated gagging from the other side of the table.

“You both make me sick,” he huffs as you hear him leave, and you and Luke resume your previous position, fingers loosening on the painting until it drops to the floor. His hands clutch at your hips, and yours move to settle on the broad expanse of his chest to balance yourself a little better, shuffling until you’re straddling his lap - and still so consumed by your love for him that you couldn’t care less who else might end up disrupting you.

“We could rent some bikes?”

Luke’s suggestion comes out in a muffled yell, his head half in a large storage box in the garage as he roots around for god-knows what, and you perch yourself on the workbench by the side while you wait for him.

The two of you have been trying to figure out how to spend the day together - the other boys having taken the boat out with their friends - so many friends that there wasn’t space for you to tag along and Luke didn’t want to leave you behind on your own.

It’s beautiful out, and you had wanted to go out on the boat, so everything else seems dull in comparison.

A trip to the mall is a waste of the sunshine, even though you sort of want to visit the bookstore, and spend hours just walking around and holding Luke’s hand, and going to the park just seems boring, even if you do rent some bikes while you’re there. It would get tiring pretty quick, and as much as you think you could spend time doing nothing with Luke and still be happy, you sort of had your heart set on something else.

“I don’t know if I trust you not to fall off,” you tell him, swinging your legs as you place your palms flat on the surface, leaning forward to try and get a look at what on earth he’s doing. “What are you even looking for in there?”

“I’ll tell you when I find ‘em,” he mumbles, and you roll your eyes, looking around the rest of the garage and waiting for an idea to spark.

“What about that boat?” You point to the smaller vessel, covered in a faded tarp and perched on a rusted trailer.

It’s a lot smaller than the other boat the boys take out - probably fits two or three people, max, from what you can see of it, and a lot older, too - but if it gets you out on the water with Luke, and you can lay beside him as it sways on the tranquil water, skin to skin while the sun shines down on you - it’ll do.

“That’s Quinn’s,” Luke tells you as he retreats from the box, putting the lid back in place before he moves on to the next one down. “I’ve been explicitly told that if I touch it, I die.”

“Why does Quinn have his own boat?” You ask, jumping up and stepping towards it.

“Don’t know,” Luke calls a little louder, knowing you’re further away without even checking, like he has an instinct for where you are at all times. “Came home one summer and it was just in our parent’s garage, Dad said if he didn’t move it, it was getting sold, so it just sits in here.”

“And he doesn’t use it?”

“Can’t,” Luke shrugs, “I’m pretty sure it’s written off, I think it was just a project to keep him busy when he was injured or something, he hasn’t touched it in a while.”

“Why doesn’t he sell it, then?”

“Don’t know, not his keeper, babe,” Luke’s voice is a little clearer, now, and you crane your neck back to see him standing up straight, a pair of old rollerblades in his hands and a big grin on his face. “I could teach you to skate?”

You gasp as you make your way back over, “Are they my size?”

“They used to be mine, so they might be a little long, but we can pad your feet up with socks.”

“Is it the same as skating on the ice?”

“The mechanics are pretty much the same,” Luke shrugs, handing you the rollerblades so he grab some of the pads that were in the box with them and close it back up, “But if you master this, we’ll get you some actual skates, and I’ll take you down to the rink to teach you.”

Ice skating is never something you’d considered before - even when you would watch Luke play, the thought of it was always daunting - but since the start of summer, you sort of like learning all the stuff Luke knows or loves. You like watching him play golf, like listening to him nerd out about his historical movies, like playing chess for some reason, as dorky as that is, and you even enjoyed Star Wars when the two of you managed to sit down together and watch all of the films - and skating seems like the final boss, in a way.

It’s exciting, like the last piece of a puzzle.

“Might have to get your dad to teach me,” you suggest, “You fall too much for me to learn from you.”

He teasingly swats at your ass with a pad, and you snort out a laugh when you see the amusement shining in his pretty eyes, leaning up when he bends a little to kiss you chastely.

“It’s part of the Hughes charm,” he mutters just after your lips part, “You’ll fit right in.”

And you try to ignore the way your heart hammers at the thought of fitting right in with the Hughes clan in a way you never really did with your own. Despite your previous problems with Jack, and despite Quinn’s newfound hobby for cockblocking you all summer, you honestly think they’re accepting of you too.

And that’s without taking into account Luke’s parents, who welcomed you back to Michigan with open arms, even if your place in Luke’s life wasn’t this solid the last time they saw you last summer.

For the first time in your life you do fit right in, and you’d be doing yourself a disservice to deny it.

You’d be doing Luke one, too.

So all you can do is smile as he leads you out into the driveway, and he sets up a little course for you to practice your skating - cones and obstacles that you do your best not to trip and stumble over, but when you do, he picks you straight back up, dusts you off, and lets you go again.

He’s patient, and he’s gentle, just like he’s always been with you, and if this is what it’s like to be a Hughes, - and as crazy as it sounds considering how fresh your relationship still technically is - you have a fleeting thought that one day you’d want to be one, for real.

“Do you think Jersey’s nicer than New York?”

You’ve been an anxious mess for the entire week before you and Luke flew out to stay with your mom - irritable and snippy and emotional - but now that you’re here, things seem to have settled.

It’s only a long weekend - three days and you can go back to the safety and security of the lake house, with the rest of the summer ahead of you and every passing day having you fall more and more in love with Luke Hughes - and your mom is actually being good company for once.

She’s present, having taken time off of work to make sure she’s around to properly acquaint herself with the first boyfriend you’ve ever brought home, and she’s sober, and she’s actively trying to get to know him.

The two of them have pretty much ticked off every other topic of conversation by the time she gets to your big move, and you can’t even let yourself stress about it.

You’re sat in between Luke’s legs on a chair out in the backyard, your stomach full of barbecue food, a cold bottle of beer gripped between your fingers, and your back pressed firmly to his chest, and there’s no way you think you even could still feel anxious in such a position.

Luke somehow manages to rinse those feelings straight out of you with just one touch.

For as much grief as your mom gave you when you first came home at the beginning of summer, you think your time away might have calmed her about the whole NYU thing - and maybe seeing you with Luke, seeing how sturdy and serious the two of you are, is quelling her fears, too.

“I mean I haven’t lived in New York, so I might not be a fair judge on that,” he chuckles, “But I like it. Feels a lot more relaxed, I think.”

“And you live with your brothers?”

“Just one of ‘em,” he says, “Jack, he plays on the same team as me,”

“So the two of you won’t be moving in with each other,”

“Mom,” you cringe, rolling your eyes at her even asking such a question when you’ve literally sat her down and talked her through your shared housing options.

“Not yet,” Luke says, easily, and you turn back a little at how casual he sounds about it.

The two of you haven’t really talked about it - not in depth, at least. He has no intentions of moving out of his and Jack’s place, as far as you know, and you’re definitely not moving in - the lake house during summer is bad enough in his brother’s company, no matter how civil the two of you have become.

“Not yet?”

“Well, it isn’t not ever,” he snorts, “I think we’re quite good at living together, I’d like to do it again. Would much rather live with you than live with Jack for the rest of my life.”

As if it’s that simple. The rest of his life.

“She’s a great cook,” your mom chimes in, like he needs her making a pros list. “And she always picks the nicest smelling detergent for laundry, I always get compliments on my uniform at work.”

“Mom,”

“She never forgets anything from the store, either, even when it’s not in her notes,” Luke adds - because clearly he already has a list. “Like I’ll be cursing myself thinking it’s too late to let her know we don’t have salsa, and I forgot to tell her in the first place, but she always remembers anyway."

“Oh my god-,”

“Exactly!”

And Luke’s arms tighten around you, a teasing embrace that you don’t really want to shake, not now, not ever. “If she’ll still have me by then, I think we’d revisit it next summer, but at least we’re closer now than we were before. I’ll still be around for her.”

Your mom smiles softly at his clear adoration for you, and when she meets your eye, you feel a sudden wave of relief wash through you. There’s something in her gaze that reads like approval - and for a woman who, this time last year, told you that there isn’t a single man out there worth your time, or who won’t hurt you - she doesn’t have to say anything for you to know she’s eating her words. For a woman who lost all faith in forever when she divorced your dad, you’re grateful to see her entertaining the idea of it when it comes to you and Luke.

“Don’t worry, I think she’ll keep you around,” she reassures him, a subtle wink sent his way as your cheeks go burning hot - and you divert your gaze to avoid the depth of her perception, eyes lingering on the softened pink hues of the summer sunset you all came out to watch.

You think you’ll keep him, too.

“This is so fancy,” you sigh, something between awe and anxiety swirling through your brain at just how nice this restaurant is - so different to all the other date nights you and Luke have spent together over the course of the summer.

But summer is coming to an end, and Luke said he wanted to try something different.

“My mom told me about it,” he replies, eyes glancing up from his menu to meet yours, “Which I realise loses me cool points, but I promise she has good taste.”

“Your mom is cool, babe,” you laugh, “No points lost.”

“I mean, it’s better than the club, right?”

It’s definitely better than the club - and not only because you’re not reminded of having to work there last summer every time you tag along with Luke for an afternoon on the course, or a trip to the bar.

“Yeah,” you smile softly to reassure him, “It’s nice, it’s just weird, I think.”

“Weird?” He frowns.

“Not like weird,” you’re quick to cover your tracks at the sight of his expression, like a wounded animal, and guilt nips at your stomach. He’s trying to do something nice. He’s giving you a chance to get all dressed up, and he sent you to get your hair blow-dried at one of the nicer salons in town, and it is a treat to be pampered.

You just sort of like all the other stuff the two of you have been getting up to a little more.

But you can put on your big girl pants and enjoy it, for his sake.

“I just mean like, I feel like I need Duolingo to help me out with this thing,” you chuckle, waving the menu a little in your hands.

You need to be more grateful, you think.

He’s making such an effort.

In one of his nicest suits, tailored to perfection - and the two of you had a little bit of a walk from the car, you got to see how good his ass looked when he paid for the meter a couple blocks away, bending to read the machine and giving you the perfect view - he honestly looks so good it’s almost alarming.

And you think you do, too. You feel good, at least - especially with how Luke looked at you when he came out of the bathroom and saw you in this dress back in the house. Black satin, a sweetheart neckline just begging for his gaze to linger, and it fits like a glove, too - you swear he was starting to drool at one point.

“Yeah, it’s a little excessive, actually,” he sighs, his finger hooking into the knot of his tie and loosening it a little.

“Baby, I promise, it’s nice-,” you reach over to wrap your fingers around his hand, and it turns, palm-up, until you can properly interlace yours with his. “I’m just not used to this sort of place, but it’s gorgeous, I really appreciate all the effort you put into tonight.”

“I’m sorry that it’s the first time we’ve done it,” he frowns, “I promise I’ll try and do better-“

“Wait, what?”

Do better?

You don’t think for a second he ever has to try?

This summer has been like a dream, and the dates the two of you have gone on have far surpassed anything you’ve ever experienced in any other relationship.

Nights together watching movies - a routine the two of you kept up every Sunday, and even more throughout the week - even if that was with his brothers, or his friends, or even his parents, a couple times.

Days out on the lake, wake surfing, or just treading water. Swimming, socialising, sailing, sunbathing - a maintained sense of calm providing comfort over the past few months that you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Mini golf, portrait painting, lego building, cooking together, shopping together, even nights as a group, doing whatever activities anybody else wanted to do.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy - and Luke is at the core of it all.

“You don’t have to do anything better.”

“I just feel like all our dates so far haven’t been super involved,” he sighs, “Like I fought so hard to get you, I should be trying harder to keep you.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Jack said-,”

And you can’t help it - in as serious of an environment as this is - you reach over the table and swat at his head with your menu. It’s really more of a light tap, but the surprise of it jolts him a little, widened eyes staring back at you.

“What the hell?”

“I thought we knew better than to listen to Jack, babe.”

“But he said-,”

“Don’t make me hit you again.”

He narrows his eyes your way, a warning, almost, and you roll your own eyes in response, a quick squeeze of your hand to let him know he can carry on.

“He said he makes a point of being the one to take charge of the dates, ‘cause Ellie told him it makes her feel valued. And I know we don’t listen to Ellie, either,” and thank god he does, you think - because for as much as you’ve forgiven the both of them for the gigantic mess they made of yours and Luke’s relationship back in the Spring, Jack and Ellie are still gigantic morons, and their relationship couldn’t be any further from yours if they tried. “But it just made me thing back on all the stuff we have done together this summer, and how I sort of left it to you to take the reins.”

You suppose that’s technically true - a lot of times you came up with the ideas, but it’s not like he never contributed. It’s not like he never made an effort, or you felt like he didn’t care.

“You do realise I like being in control, right?” You ask, your lips twisting a little to soften the blow when he meets your eyes again, and you drop your menu to free up your other hand, leaning forward and reaching for his free hand, too.

“I’m very aware, actually,” he snorts, and you’re sort of relieved to hear it - because you know deep down that you and Luke understand each other on a deeper level than you’ve ever experienced before, and to hear him second guessing it sort of stings. “And I like you being in control,” he adds, thank god. “I just feel like I always leave it to you to organise stuff like this, without even realising I’m doing it, and I guess I feel bad.”

“I like looking after this stuff, Luke,” you admit, a little sheepish, though you don’t really know why. Maybe it’s leaving this sort of unspoken for so long, or maybe it’s past experiences of guys who would feel emasculated by you adding, “I like looking after you.”

“Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know,” he pouts, “I guess I just thought you’d want to be with someone who looked after you,”

“You do.” You assure him, and you could probably list a thousand ways in which he’s already proven that. “Looking after me goes beyond dates,” you tell him, “It’s about how you make me feel.”

“And how do I make you feel?”

You’re thankful to see the way a slow, sure smile creeps up on his face - like whatever thoughts Jack had infected him with before - whether intentionally or not - have been eradicated.

“You know how you make me feel,” you smile back.

“Yeah,” he nods, self assured and seriously sexy. “Still want you to say it, though.”

“How about we get out of here and you let me show you, instead?”

And you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move so quick.

He’s practically dragging you out of the restaurant in under a minute, making sure to thank and tip the maître d' on the way, and the two of you barely make it back to his car before he’s pouncing - his kiss firm, his adoration clear, and your love continuing to grow with every waking moment you spend in his company.

“Is that the last box?” You ask as Luke places it gently down beside the others he’s just hauled up to your apartment from the truck he rented to have your stuff shipped over from storage in Michigan.

He’s been pretty insistent on helping you move in - he’s been pretty insistent on helping with everything, and you couldn’t be more grateful for his input, if you’re honest.

He’d come out to Jersey to check out potential apartments with you, had given advice on all the best areas, with all the best travel access to get yourself across the river - because the thought of living in a different state again, despite just how close the two of them are, just didn’t sit right with you when it came to deciding where you’d live while you went to graduate school.

And now he’s brought up every single box without you having to lift a finger - so far from the slinged up version of him you’d started your summer with a few months ago, which is really wonderful to see. He’s worked really hard to rehab his injury, and you’re so proud of all of his progress, beyond using it to your own advantage.

You can’t wait to spend the next year watching him thrive.

He makes you so happy you could probably burst if you give it too much thought.

“Yep,” he smiles, and he flexes his muscles at you with a suggestive wiggle of his brows, “You think me bringing all these up 5 flights of stairs is enough for people to start thinking I have the potential to bulk?”

“I’d say you’re plenty bulky,” you say, beaming up as you practically skip over to him, placing your hands on his muscular chest and leaning to press a kiss to his lips, “Gonna miss my big strong boyfriend while you’re away for the weekend.”

Him and his brothers have a little trip planned for the three of them, and as much as you want to spend your first few nights in your new apartment with him, you know how important it is leading into the season that they get their sibling time in - especially with Quinn.

“I’ll come straight here when I get back on Monday,” he promises, kissing you again and again until you start to feel a little dizzy, his strong, calloused grip on your waist guiding you back towards the couch that the landlord left behind for you - and while you’re quite keen to christen a few of the spaces while you have the chance, you can’t contain your excitement for much longer.

“I got you a present.”

“I’m supposed to get you something, I’m pretty sure,” he scoffs, watching as you spin on your heels, retreat back to the table you were standing at when he came in, and come back over to him - placing something small and cold in his palm.

A key.

A key to your apartment.

“So you don’t have to call ahead.” You tell him, although obviously it means much more than that.

He smiles - that same pretty smile that got you hooked over a year ago, now - and you smile straight back.

He lifts his hands to cup at your beaming cheeks, the cool metal of the key pressing into your skin - not that you mind - as he pulls you in to kiss you, again. His excitement is clear, and you're quickly consumed by the familiar thumping of your heart that will never go away when you're around him.

Finally the two of you have somewhere you don’t have to worry about interruptions, or rushing, or hiding away.

Finally you have somewhere - and someone - that’s just yours.

another a/n: I didn't know how to end this lmao!! but I hope you all enjoy!!

#they have a corner in my heart!!!!!!!#the breath i held it's out now #the battles i fought for all of this to happen #🥹😌🥺💕😭#FIC RECS

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