snoopyhughes - Tumblr blog

snoopyhughes · 6 days ago

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Spring into summer (Rowan’s version)—

Brock Boeser x Dylan (Morrison) Boeser

Warnings: kind of angsty but has a happy ending!! No real warnings that I can think of, but if you notice one please lmk!!!

Notes: loosely based on the song ‘Spring into summer’ by Lizzy McAlpine

Autumn leaves were scattered across the driveway as Dylan Boeser wrapped her scarf around her neck and helped Mia out of the backseat. The five-year-old clutched her stuffed bunny in one hand and her older sister’s fingers in the other.

Avery, now seven, was already marching ahead, her little ladybug backpack bouncing, and her free hand was shoved into the pocket of her green coat as she made a beeline toward the familiar front door.

Brock's house smelled like him, cedarwood and laundry detergent, and a touch of the musky cologne he always wore with his game-day suits. Dylan noticed it the moment she stepped inside her old home, carrying Mia’s duffel and backpack.

"Hey," Brock said, appearing from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel, one that they bought together just after they moved in together. His voice was low, careful. A warmth that she missed so greatly. "Hi." Dylan kept her tone neutral. Not cold, not warm.

Brock crouched to greet the girls, scooping Mia into a bear hug and ruffling Avery’s hair. “How was school and ballet class?” Avery grinned. “I got the spin right this time! Miss Kayla said we are almost ready for the recital.” "That’s awesome, Ave. You’ll show me later?"

“Only if you and Mommy come watch together.”

Brock glanced at Dylan, whose lips now formed a straight line, then he quickly looked down at his daughter. “We’ll talk about that,” he said gently.

Dylan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to seem impatient. These drop-offs always hurt more than she expected. Like little paper cuts to her heart as she walked into a house that used to be her home and dropped her daughters off to the man who used to be hers.

Luckily, the girls didn’t cry anymore. They didn’t ask why Daddy wasn’t at dinner or why Mommy didn’t sleep over. But they wanted it to go back to their idea of normal, and that was infinitely worse.

Mia fished a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket and handed it to Brock. “We made this in class. It’s our family tree.”

Brock unfolded it. There, in crayon and marker, was a stick-figure family standing under a rainbow. Four figures, Mommy, Daddy, Avery, Mia, and the dogs. All holding hands.

Dylan caught his eyes flick toward her. Something flickered there.

It felt like regret, but she summed it up as fatigue from the game last night.

“Very nice, Mia!” he said softly. The little girl beamed. “We are a family, see.”

Silence filled the space for a beat too long.

Dylan exhaled, “Of course we are baby." She smiled as her eyes flickered to Brock, who was already staring at her.

"Okay, girls, give mumma a kiss.”

Mia tugged at her hand. “Don’t go yet, please.” “I’ll see you Sunday night. Remember to be good for Daddy, okay?” She kissed their cheeks and brushed back a blonde curl from Mia’s face.

Brock held the door open for her. Their hands nearly brushed. Neither acknowledged it.

“Thanks for bringing them,” he said. “Of course,” she replied, stepping out into the fading light. “Take care.”

As Dylan walked down the steps to her car, she didn’t look back.

But from the door frame, the two dogs, two pairs of small eyes watched, and one set, bigger, tired, watched as she drove away. He stood behind them, wondering if it was already too late, or just the long road home.

★★★★

The door clicked shut behind him with a soft transition from sulking to being there for his daughters.

Brock leaned his forehead against it for a second, listening to the muffled giggles of the girls as they raced toward the living room, the dogs trailing right behind them, in hopes of a movie before bath and bedtime. Their energy echoed off the walls, where pictures of the two of them and the dogs, along with a few of Dylan with the babies from before the split, were scattered.

He ran a hand over his face, then down the back of his neck. The house felt full again. But it was temporary.

Everything seemed temporary right now.

“Daddy, can we watch Encanto again?” Avery called from the couch, already climbing under the throw blanket. “Didn’t you just watch that with your mom yesterday?” he said, forcing a smile as he walked in.

“Yeah, but she cries every time their abuela apologizes. You don’t cry.” Brock chuckled, sitting down beside her, “I might.”

Mia crawled up into his lap like it was second nature. He blinked at the weight of her, small and trusting. “You smell like Mommy,” she mumbled, nuzzling her face against his sweater, the one Dylan had gotten him for his 30th birthday.

His face fell slightly.

He didn’t respond. Just wrapped his arms around her, pressing a light kiss to her temple. The lump in his throat sat heavy as he searched for the remote.

The TV flickered and turned on. The opening song filled the room, but Brock’s mind drifted to the paper drawing, which he promised to pin with a magnet on the fridge. The look Dylan gave him when she thought he wasn’t watching was almost guarded, something like disappointment over old affection.

He wondered how many times she had waited for him to come home, not just physically, but emotionally.

And when exactly did she stop expecting him at all?

Mia had fallen asleep before the third song. Avery was halfway there.

Brock muted the TV once he knew they were both asleep and sat quietly, listening to the steady rhythm of their breaths. This was peace. He was always chasing this, but never managed to hold onto it when it mattered most. Little blonde spitting images of the love of his life sat huddled around him, as he spiralled.

Maybe Dylan was right to walk away.

But watching his daughters curled up beside him, Brock made a quiet promise he didn’t quite know how to fulfill just yet.

He wouldn’t let them grow up thinking this kind of distance was normal.

He’d show up. Even if it was late.

Even if he had to learn how from scratch.

★★★★

Sunday evening came too quickly. And just when he was feeling his happiest, he had to switch out with Dylan and send the girls to their other home.

The sun was just beginning to slip behind the trees when Brock buckled Avery and Mia into the backseat of Dylan’s car. She’d dropped them off a few days ago, he had weekends, she the week days.

He leaned into the backseat and placed their backpacks on the floor between them.

“Lunch bags are in the big pockets, I washed them and got new water bottles for them, and don’t forget Mia's art folder, which is in the smaller pouch for tomorrow,” he said, tapping the bags and looking at Dylan, who mouthed a short 'thank you.'

“Thanks, Daddy,” Avery said, then paused. “Mummy?” Dylan smiled. “What baby?” “Did your friend Alex come over this weekend? Did he bring donuts again? The pink one with sprinkles.”

The name Alex landed like a rock to the chest. Brock blinked once and then twice, forcing his smile not to slip as he turned to his now ex.

“Oh yeah?” he said carefully. “Is… he a friend from work?” “No,” Mia said, interjecting while innocently swinging her feet. “She said they met at the grocery store. He was really funny. He made Avery laugh until she spit out her juice.” Avery giggled at the memory.

Brock looked up and saw Dylan's face in her hands, embarrassment filling her face as she continued to listen to her daughters rat her out.

“Sounds like fun,” he said, standing up straighter.

Avery tilted her head. “Are you mad?” Brock looked at her, surprised. “No,” he said too quickly. “Why would I be mad?” “You got that squint,” she replied.

“What squint?”

“The one you make when you’re pretending not to feel stuff.”

Brock laughed, but it was clearly forced. This kid was too sharp for her own good.

“I’m not mad, Ave. Mumma deserves someone funny.”

She didn’t look convinced, but Dylan's face fell at his confession.

“Did everything go okay this weekend?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “Yeah,” he said, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. “They were great, we saw a movie, then Petey came over and went on a hike with us and the dogs, great stuff.”

There was an awkward beat. He wanted to ask about Alex, but he didn’t. Quickly deciding it wasn’t his place, not anymore. But he noticed how she didn’t offer anything up, either.

As she helped Mia with her seatbelt, Brock stepped back, the weight of unsaid things pressing down on him.

“Bye, Daddy!” Avery called, waving through the window.

He waved back, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The car pulled away, and Brock stood there on the sidewalk a moment longer, the crisp wind cutting through his jacket.

Inside, the house felt colder than usual.

On the fridge, the family drawing still hung.

★★★★

The restaurant was dimly lit, all reclaimed wood and warm lighting, the kind of place that made everything feel romantic. Dylan was a pessimist through and through... and somthing about this kushy restraunt was pissing her off

She twirled her wine glass, watching the red liquid slowly swirl. Across from her, Alex was telling a story about getting locked out of his apartment in college with only boxers on and a pair of glasses that weren't his own.

She smiled, laughed even, because it was funny, in a neat, over told way.

The issue was so clear, and it was that this perfectly sculpted and put-together man was not Brock.

Brock was real, emotional, and raw in an uncensored way. Their conversations always made Dylan feel like the most important girl in the world, because when they talked he shared almost every piece of himslef with her, but he also wanted to hear about her feelings and thoughts.

“You’re easy to talk to,” Alex said, tilting his head slightly before taking a swig from his beer, “I don’t mean that as a line. I just… like how calm you are.”

Dylan tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded. “Thanks. I think I had to learn how to be.” He leaned in a little, a glint of distaste in his eyes as he said, “Brock, right?”

The name felt louder than the hum of everything in the background. She paused, then took a sip of her wine.

“We were together a long time. Two kids. A lot of history.” “I get it,” Alex said gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

But that was the thing, she wanted to explain.

If she was being honest Brock was her favourite topic of conversation, and as she's grown outside of their marriage she had realized how the positives really did outweight the negatives.

She wanted to give context. To draw a map of who she was and how she got here. But with Alex, she didn’t know where to start, or why she even felt the need to.

There was literally nothing wrong with him. He was warm, emotionally available, and thoughtful. He asked about her work. He complimented her parenting. He even remembered Avery’s favourite cartoon characters from the first time he met her.

But somewhere deep in her chest, a small voice kept asking, 'Why doesn’t this feel like home?'

And if she was being honest, it was because this man was not her Brock.

After dinner, they walked outside. The air had a chill to it, and the sky was starting to darken.

“Want to go for a walk?” he asked. She hesitated. “I should probably get home,” she said. “Kids have school tomorrow, and I hate to keep my mom up watching them.” Alex nodded, a little too understanding. “Of course. I’ll walk you to your car.”

They paused when they reached it. The silence stretched.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said. She smiled, but it didn’t feel all that genuine. “Yeah… I’d like that too.”

He kissed her cheek.

It was chaste, respectful. No pressure. He stepped back with a hopeful grin waiting for her give him a little more.

But she just nodded.

Dylan got in the car, turned on the ignition, and let her hands sit on the wheel for a long moment.

Alex was present. But being present wasn’t the same as knowing her. And being a fresh start wasn’t the same as being the one.

As she pulled away from the curb, she didn’t feel excited.

She felt unsatisfied. And for the first time since the separation, she wondered if she had really let go of Brock, or if she’d just been holding her breath.

★★★★

The tiny red chairs made Brock feel like a misplaced giant.

He sat across from Ms. Rodgers in Avery’s first-grade classroom, nodding politely as she went over test scores, reading progress, and “areas for growth.” He had never been to a one-on-one meeting, and had promised Dylan he'd be as present as possible so he could report back to her.

So present he was, focused on every word, and even took notes on his phone.

But what caught him off guard wasn’t the curriculum, or even those 'areas of growth' which Brock deemed bullshit cause his baby is perfect.

It was the binder on the table.

Avery’s “portfolio,” Ms. Rodgers explained. A collection of projects, journal entries, and other things she had worked on the first half of the year. He flipped through it, smiling at the drawings and shaky handwriting.

Then came a laminated page with a question written across the top in purple marker, “Who helps you do your best?”

Beneath it, Avery had drawn two figures. One labelled “Mommy,” holding a lunchbox and a calendar. The other, “Daddy,” standing next to a hockey stick.

Ms. Rodgers smiled warmly as Brock's face lit up. “She’s such a thoughtful kid. Always mentions how organized her mom is, Dylan even sends me weekly notes about what Avery’s working on at home. It really makes a difference.”

Brock nodded, gut sinking.

“She said you take her to the rink sometimes,” Ms. Carver added. “That’s really special too, especially when all the big changes have been really hard on her.”

He smiled again, weaker this time, as he nodded, speechless.

After the meeting, he walked out into the parking lot slowly. He sat in his truck, pulled out his phone, and stared at Dylan’s contact for a long time.

Then, without overthinking it, he typed out a message.

"Hey Dyl. Just left Avery’s parent teacher conference, Rodgers said she is doing really good!! I'll send you some of the notes she gave me when I get back home. Her teacher showed me all the notes you’ve been sending her. I didn’t know you did that. I guess I didn’t know a lot of what you did, back then. I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. And I’m sorry I didn’t say that more when it counted."

He hovered for a second, thumb shaking slightly, then hit send.

★★★★

Avery’s voice was unusually sweet when she asked Dylan if they could have a "family" picnic at the park. “Just us?” Dylan asked, packing goldfish into little containers. “Like… us-us. You and Daddy, and Mia. Please?”

Dylan hesitated, caught between the ache in her chest and the look in Avery’s eyes, so hopeful it made her eyes shine.

“Okay,” she said finally, “but you have to call Daddy and ask him if he can.”

Avery was practically vibrating with excitement when Dylan dialled his number.

And of course he said yes.

The park was quiet for a warm afternoon, late fall leaves crunching under the girl's sneakers. Dylan arrived first, an old throw blanket slung over one arm, a soft cooler in the other.

A little selfish bit inside of her had assumed Brock wouldn’t come.

But he did.

Five minutes early on the dot, he appeared across the grass, holding a grocery bag with Mia’s favourite juice boxes and a couple of different snacks and the dogs. The girls ran to him like magnets, Avery beaming with not-so-hidden satisfaction as he leant down to pick both of them up and press a kiss to each of their cheeks.

Dylan offered a small smile to the man as he sat down across from her. Brock returned the smile, uncertain but trying as they fell into the routine of talking about school and work.

The girls immediately tore off toward the playground after a quick lunch of crackers and fruit.

“Don’t go too far!” Dylan called out as she watched the two running in the field. “We won’t!” Avery yelled over her shoulder, dragging Mia by the hand. “We forgot our ball in Mumma's car, be right back!”

Dylan frowned. “Wait—”

But they were already gone.

Brock chuckled under his breath as he watched them heading towards the car, “They’re scheming.” Dylan looked at him, then sighed and shook her head, "Not subtle in the slightest.”

Silence settled between them; it was honestly awkward, but not unbearable.

Brock reached into the bag and handed her a cheese scone, “Your favourite, right?” She blinked as she took it from him. “You remembered that?” “Some things stick,” he said, “and you're pretty unforgettable."

They sat for a moment, eating the pastries quietly. Nearby, children screamed happily on monkey bars and swings. Neither of them looked at each other, but neither made a move to leave the blanket.

“I got your message, sorry for not responding,” Dylan said finally, her voice softer than before, “but thank you, for saying that, and noticing.” “I meant it, even if it's too late.”

“It's not too late,” she looked at her hands, growing nervous, “but thank you for noticing..”

He nodded. “I’m trying. Not just with them. With me, and for you.” Dylan looked at him, studying him. “Therapy?” “Every Tuesday morning at 11:00. It sucks. But it’s helping.” “That’s good,” she said.

“You seem... different,” she added, hoping he'd pick up on the appreciation for change. “Trying to be. I don’t want the girls to think disappearing is normal. Or shutting down when things get hard.” She nodded slowly. “I think they already notice.”

They both looked toward the playground, where Mia and Avery were hiding behind a bench, very poorly pretending not to spy on the.

“They planned this,” Dylan said, smiling despite herself. “Oh yeah. We are fully being emotionally manipulated by our children.”

They both laughed. Not forced, but real.

The sound of normalcy surprised them. It was just a little quiet, and in away familiar.

★★★★

A few weeks later, Dylan found herself out with Alex once again, the girls with Brock for the weekend.

The wine was good and the food, even better. Still, Dylan couldn’t quite focus on the date itself, and she was even less interested in the man sitting across from her.

Alex was telling a story about a coworker’s dog ruining a Zoom meeting earlier in the week, adding on how he'd love for her to meet a few of his work friends, but she kept checking her watch without meaning to. Her body was here, a quiet table tucked away in the corner of some hole-in-the-wall restaurant, but her mind kept drifting.

She was focused on her family, who were on the other side of the city.

Think about Avery’s science project, which Brock promised to help finish over the weekend. Whether Brock remembered to pack Mia’s allergy meds for tomorrow's softball game. To the strange significance of the conversation they’d had at the park.

Alex trailed off, watching her. His smile was still there, but fading as he caught on to her clear disappearance at the table.

She smiled when she was supposed to. Laughed once or twice while he rambled. But even she could feel the hollowness in it.

Alex, to his credit, didn’t pretend not to notice but also was very forgiving in his address if the issue.

Midway through the story, he paused, fork poised over his plate, “You know,” he said, voice light but steady, “I think I’ve been talking for ten minutes, and you haven’t heard a word of it, or even added to the conversation.”

Dylan blinked, caught in her own world as she used the napkin in her lap to wipe her face, “I'm so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, but he was studying her now. “You’ve been somewhere else all night, and I don't want to ” She exhaled and put her silverware down. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I wanted to want this. I really did.”

He sat back slightly, arms folding across his chest. Not defensive or upset in any way, but almost a little judgmental. “Is this about your ex-husband?”

She hesitated.

He shook his head with a small laugh. “I really don’t get it. Not completely. I know I wasn’t around for whatever happened between you two, but from what I’ve picked up… he wasn’t great to you.”

“The ending really wasn’t great,” Dylan said quietly. “For a short time, it wasn’t. But the before was amazing, and he was really great and so present.”

“Then why?” he asked, not accusing, just genuinely confused. “Why let him take up space again? Why not move forward with someone who actually shows up?”

She looked down, fiddling with her napkin. The truth was ugly and simple.

“Because I, of course, still have a lot of love for him,” she said.

Alex didn’t respond right away. He just stared at her for a long, heavy moment.

“You still love him,” he echoed, more to himself than to her. “After everything?”

“Yes,” she said, barely above a whisper. “And I’ve tried to lessen it, but obviously I have a lot of care for the father of my children. But I’ve worked so hard to move on. I dated, I made new routines, I even started thinking maybe someone like you, someone kind and reliable, was what I needed.”

“I am kind and reliable,” Alex said with a tired smile.

“You are. That’s the thing. You’ve been wonderful. But it’s not about who’s ‘better.’ It’s not even about what’s smart or safe. It’s just…” She shrugged helplessly. “I don't think I'm ready to make it go away.”

Alex leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He wasn’t angry. Just hurt, and quietly exhausted.

“Does he know?”

“No,” Dylan said. “And I’m not even sure it matters right now. I’m not telling you this because I’m planning to get back together with him. I’m telling you because I owe you honesty.”

He nodded, slowly. “Well. This sucks.”

She winced. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

He laughed softly, but it didn’t have much humor in it. “At least I didn’t meet your kids.”

“You did, actually. Twice.”

“Right,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Then I guess I was already halfway in.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I want you to know,” she added, “you didn’t do anything wrong. I just... didn’t realize I was so confused. That there was a part of me still waiting for something that might never come.”

Alex stood up and grabbed his coat. “Well, for what it’s worth, I hope he doesn’t waste it this time.”

She got up too. “Thank you. Really.”

He opened the door for her, stepping out into the cool night. The street was mostly empty. They stood under a lamppost, the air still and clean.

Alex looked at her one last time. “Take care of yourself, Dylan.”

“You too.”

They didn’t hug. Just a quiet goodbye. And then he was gone, walking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets.

Dylan sat in her car afterward, staring out the windshield.

And then the tears started, and didn't stop for a long time.

★★★★

The storm hit just after dinner.

Rain slammed against the windows at Brock’s place, wind curling around the corners of the house like something alive.

Mia had been cranky all day, low appetite, redden cheeks, but it wasn’t until she woke up from her nap burning hot and crying for Dylan that Brock knew it wasn’t just a bad day.

She was curled on the couch now, cheeks flushed, breathing quick and shallow. He held a cold washcloth to her forehead, but she was barely responsive, mumbling nonsense and reaching out with sticky hands.

“Mummy,” she whimpered. “I want Mummy.”

Brock didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his phone and called.

Dylan answered on the second ring. “Everything okay?”

“Mia’s sick,” he said, already pacing. “Like, really sick. She’s got a fever and she keeps asking for you. Can you come?”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

She arrived in under seven, soaked from the rain but focused. No small talk. Just eyes on Mia.

“She’s burning up,” Dylan murmured, crouching beside the couch. “Did she throw up?”

“No. Just sweating a lot. She keeps drifting off and waking up disoriented.”

Dylan nodded, already pulling out her phone to log Mia’s symptoms in the medical app she always used. “She had a bug like this last winter. It spiked quick, then broke in the morning.”

Suddenly the two were back into their old routine, Dylan heading into the kitchen to find the thermometer as Brock sat helping Mia to have sips of water, talking softly to soothe her. Dylan stroked her daughter’s hair while Brock held her hand.

When Mia finally drifted into a deeper sleep, curled against Dylan’s side on the couch, Brock quietly adjusted a blanket over them.

The three of them sat like that for a long moment, Avery once in a while coming in to watch the movie Mia had picked and then leaving to keep playing by herself.

Eventually, Dylan shifted carefully and stood, easing Mia down onto the pillows. “She’ll probably sleep through the night now.”

Brock nodded. “Tea?”

She hesitated, then followed him into the kitchen.

The storm outside had softened to a steady hum. The two sat across from each other with mismatched mugs and the kind of stillness that wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

“She still reaches for you first when she’s scared,” Brock said.

“She lives with me most of the time,” Dylan replied gently. “She reaches for you when she needs to be brave.”

That made him smile, small and grateful.

They didn’t fill the silence right away. No need. The weight of what just happened, of how natural it had felt to move around each other, to put Mia first without fumbling lingered in the air between them.

“I forgot what this felt like,” Brock said eventually. “The... us part. When we’re not fighting.”

“Me too,” Dylan said. “It used to be easy.”

“Then it wasn’t.”

“Yeah.”

He glanced at her. “I’m not trying to rewrite anything. I know how far I checked out. I know how much you carried.”

Dylan looked down at her tea, fingers curled around the mug. “It was lonely.”

“I know,” he said. “I think I needed to fall apart a little to understand how much you held together.”

She looked up at him. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The kettle clicked behind them.

Something had shifted. Not erased the past, but moved through it together, for the first time in a long time.

And that, Dylan realized, was more real than anything she'd felt in a while.

★★★★

The next morning was overcast, the air still thick with the last trace of rain.

Mia was finally sleeping peacefully in the guest room, a cool towel draped over her forehead. Dylan had left early for work, a morning shift she couldn’t get out of but not before Brock promised to call at any sign of trouble.

Avery sat at the kitchen table in her favorite faded hoodie, legs tucked under her, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her.

She was drawing something, a crooked-looking tree with four stick figures under it.

Brock poured himself a second cup of coffee, then leaned against the counter and watched her.

“You guys always draw trees,” he said gently.

“It’s our family tree,” she replied without looking up. “Except I don’t know where to put the lines anymore.”

He walked over and sat down beside her.

She glanced at him. “You slept on the couch, right?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

Silence. The kind that kids are unusually good at holding.

Brock studied her drawing again, the four stick figures looked happier than he felt like they had any right to. “You’re a good artist.”

She shrugged. “I keep practicing.”

Another pause.

Then, without lifting her head, she said, “You were nicer last night.”

Brock blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You were like... calm. You didn’t talk all sharp. You and Mom didn’t sound like you were holding your breath all the time.”

He stared at her. There was no judgment in her voice, no malice. Just an observation.

He took a breath. “Yeah. I think I’ve been... different lately.”

She nodded like she already knew.

“I didn’t always know how to be a dad,” he added. “I mean, I was trying. But sometimes I was just... there, not all that good.”

“You didn’t used to come to the school plays,” Avery said. “But you came last time. You clapped really loud.”

“That’s ‘cause you were awesome bug.”

She smiled faintly, a little proud.

Brock leaned his arms on the table. “I’m trying to be better. Not just standing in the room, but being in it, with you. With Mia. With your mom. Cause I love you guys a lot.”

“You and Mom aren’t getting back together, right?”

The question hit gently, but directly. He didn’t flinch.

“I don’t know,” Brock said. “We’re just trying to be nice to each other right now. That’s a good place to start, don’t you think?”

Avery looked at him carefully, her gaze older than it should’ve been.

“I think Mom still loves you,” she said.

“I love her too,” Brock replied, voice low. “That’s not the hard part.”

“What is?”

“Making sure I don’t hurt her the same way again.”

Avery was quiet, considering that, “Okay.”

She went back to her drawing, adding leaves to the tree.

Brock watched her for a moment longer, then reached across and gently added his own little stick figure to the page.

Avery smiled. Just a little. But she didn’t move his drawing.

And that felt like something.

★★★★

The café was nothing special. Midday light filtered through streaked windows. It smelled faintly of burnt espresso and cinnamon. Dylan had picked it because she knew they wouldn’t run into anyone here.

She was already sitting when Brock walked in, shoulders damp from the drizzle, jacket unzipped like he hadn’t noticed the weather.

He sat down across from her with a cautious smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she said.

There was a long pause. Neither of them sipped their drinks.

“I’m not sure how to start,” Brock admitted.

“Then don’t,” Dylan replied. “We don’t have to start. We’re just talking.”

He nodded. “Okay. That’s easier.”

Another pause.

“I keep thinking about how much I missed,” Brock finally said. “Not big stuff. The little things. The way Mia asks for her apples a certain way. Avery’s half-smile when she’s pretending not to be proud of herself.”

Dylan watched him, her face unreadable.

“I wasn’t present,” he continued. “I was in the room, but not there. And I didn’t even see it until after we split.”

“I know,” she said, voice soft. “That’s what hurt the most. Not the fights. Not even the loneliness. Just... that you didn’t seem to notice any of it.”

“I see it now. I’m seeing a lot I didn’t let myself look at before.”

She nodded, slowly. “You seem different. But that doesn’t mean I know what to do with that.”

“I don’t either,” Brock said. “I’m not asking to pick up where we left off. I don’t even know if I want that exact thing again.”

That caught her off guard. “You don’t?”

He shook his head. “I want something better. Not perfect. Honest. Something we build on purpose this time, if we even get there.”

Dylan stared into her cup. “I’m still tired, Brock. I’m still figuring out how to feel safe again. With you, with myself. I need space that doesn’t disappear the second things start to feel good.”

“I want to give you that,” he said. “Whether we end up together again or not.”

She looked up at him. Not as the man who left her carrying too much, or the man who’d suddenly shown up when it mattered, but as someone... trying. And for once, not trying to fix things, just to be there.

“I think I’d like to try being around each other more,” she said. “Not for the girls. For us. Just to see.”

His shoulders relaxed just a little. Not relief, but maybe a tiny bit of hope.

“Okay,” he said. “One step at a time?”

She nodded. “One step.”

They didn’t touch. They didn’t make promises.

But when they left, they walked out into the rain side by side.

And neither of them rushed ahead.

★★★★

The school gym smelled faintly of popcorn and floor polish, filled with the hum of excited families, folding chairs, and crumpled programs. The lights were too bright, the sound system crackled, and still it felt important.

Dylan arrived a few minutes early, scanning the rows until she spotted Brock and Mia already seated near the middle. He’d saved her a seat beside him without asking.

She hesitated just a second before sitting down. Not out of hesitation, just habit.

“Hey,” he said quietly, offering her the extra program.

“Hey,” she replied, taking it.

There wasn’t much talking. Just a few shared smiles as kindergartners in flower costumes did their best to stay in sync.

When Avery’s group took the stage, Dylan leaned forward instinctively. Brock did too.

She was in a purple leotard, hair pulled back into a tight, slightly crooked bun, and honestly some of Brock’s best work. And when she caught sight of them sitting side by side her face lit up.

Dylan caught the moment just as Brock did. Their daughter hadn’t looked relieved. She looked proud.

They both clapped louder than necessary when her number ended. Brock may have stood. Dylan rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

Afterward, in the crowded hallway, Avery came bounding toward them, her face flushed and happy.

“You both came!”

“Of course we did,” Dylan said, crouching to fix a loose hairpin.

“You guys sat together.”

Brock glanced at Dylan. She nodded, just a little.

“We wanted to,” he said honestly.

Mia tugged at Brock’s jacket. “Can we take a picture?”

Avery grinned. “A family picture?”

Dylan’s hand found its place around Mia’s shoulder. Brock rested a hand on Avery’s back. And when the flash went off, there was no sense of pretending.

They weren’t a picture-perfect family.

But they were present.

★★★★

Early spring had arrived with the faint smell of rain, and everything felt like it was quietly waking up, even the old family house where Brock had lived by himself since the split.

Inside, the kitchen was busy as usual. The girls were laughing, cooking with the kind of chaos that only kids could have. Avery had declared it "Family Night," as she did most weeks, but this time something felt a little different.

Brock was chopping vegetables, while Dylan stirred the sauce. They had this new routine of making dinner, sitting down together, talking.

The table was cluttered with plates and half-finished dishes of pasta, and after dinner, the four of them spilled onto the back steps, as they always did in spring. The girls huddled together under a blanket, while Brock handed Dylan a second one, his movements easy and natural now. She didn’t argue, didn’t pull away.

The conversation was light, mostly about school, a new project Avery was excited about, Mia’s latest obsession with making friendship bracelets.

The usual small talk.

And yet, Dylan found herself watching the quiet ease between them all. How they had found a way to just be again, without the weight of what had been.

Eventually, the girls went inside. They had school tomorrow after all, and despite the lingering warmth of the night, they were both tired.

Brock stood up to take the blankets inside, but when he came back out, Dylan was still sitting on the steps, her feet resting against the cool concrete. She looked up at him, her face softened by the dim light from the kitchen window.

“I should go,” she said quietly. “It’s getting late.”

He looked at her for a long moment. He picked up something in the way she was sitting, not quite ready to leave. It made him pause.

“You don’t have to,�� Brock said softly. “I mean... you’re welcome to stay.”

Dylan blinked, looking up at him in a way that made his heart beat just a little faster as her sift smile grew.

It was small invitation, but the weight of it hit him harder than he expected. He hadn’t anticipated feeling so vulnerable, not after everything they’d been through.

She wasn’t just staying for the night, this was a quiet step forward.

She hesitated for a beat longer, then stood, brushing the blanket off her lap. “I could... stay,” she said, almost to herself, as if confirming the possibility.

Brock’s breath caught, and he looked away for just a moment. It had taken so much to get to this place.

And now, it felt like something real was finally possible.

As Dylan walked inside, Brock felt his chest tighten.

This was no longer a simple decision to “be nice” or “make it work for the girls.” This was a decision that had taken them both time to be ready for, to let go of old habits and fears, and to simply trust that this, whatever it was, could still feel like home.

Later, as they both stood in the doorway of the guest room, he paused before going back to the kitchen to clean up.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice low.

Dylan’s gaze softened. She smiled, not in a grand gesture, but in that quiet way she did when she felt something realwithout needing to say it out loud.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think I am.”

Brock swallowed hard. There was no perfect moment. But as Dylan closed the door behind her, he felt almost giddy.

And as he turned to walk back to the kitchen, he let himself exhal.

And it was in that small, unspoken moment, Brock realized how much he had missed this. Missed them.

And when the two crawled into their old bed later that night, relishing in the feeling of the other's arms, they realized how okay they would be.

#I loved this!#I need more of this fam fsss #bb6 #au

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snoopyhughes · 6 days ago

Text

love letters luke leaves you around your apartment !

✴︎ in the pocket of his hoodie

you don’t mean to miss him this much. not on the first night. not when the front door has barely had the time to stay shut behind him.

but it’s cold, and quiet, and the apartment feels like it’s holding its breath without him in it.

you wander around aimlessly, toes tucked into socks he folded for you, and settle in front of the closet where his hoodies live. it’s habit now — reaching for the gray one, soft from too many washes, long enough to cover your hands. it’s the one he always lets you steal when you need comfort without asking.

you shrug it on, breathe in the leftover warmth of him, and immediately feel your fingers brush against something in the pocket.

folded paper.

your name written on the front, no envelope, just the soft curve of his handwriting like it didn’t want to shout.

you sit on the edge of the bed before you open it.

baby,

you’re probably wearing this because you’re cold — or because you miss me a little. i’m hoping it’s because you miss me.

i’m also hoping this makes you smile.

this is just a little note, nothing fancy. just something to remind you that i’m thinking of you, even when i’m far away, even when we’re in different time zones and you’re yelling at the tv because the team messed up again. (i know you do that. don’t deny it.)

this hoodie always looks better on you, by the way. always smells like you by the time i get it back. not that i’m complaining. i love it. i love you.

i already miss your hands on my cheeks when you say goodbye. i already miss how you always remind me to pack moisturizer even though you know i’m going to forget to use it by the second night, i miss your little sigh when you finally curl up on the couch and let yourself relax.

you always carry so much. i wish you wouldn’t.

i hope you slept well. i hope you’re taking it easy. i hope you know how much of my heart i left behind in this apartment with you.

i’ll be back soon. and when i am, we’re getting breakfast from that place you love and we’re watching the dumb movie you keep saying i won’t like. (i probably won’t. but i’ll still watch it. you know why.)

take care of yourself, baby.

yours, always,

luke.

you blink hard at the end of the note, mouth curved without even realizing it. you fold the paper again like it’s something sacred, something alive, and press it to your chest for just a second.

he’s not even that far yet. still probably somewhere in the air, scrolling through his playlist, half-asleep against the window.

but this?

this feels like he never left.

you pull your knees up onto the bed and sink into his hoodie fully, sleeves tucked around your hands. the paper stays close, warm where you keep it resting in your palm.

✴︎ in your favourite mug

the next morning comes too quiet.

sunlight filters through the blinds in strips, warm on the hardwood, but not quite enough to fill the space he left behind. you pad into the kitchen on bare feet, still in his hoodie, hair knotted from sleep, and the kettle hums low as you press the button down.

you’re not even fully awake yet — not really — just moving through the motions, heavy-limbed and quiet. sleep never feels as good without him. it’s like your body forgets how to rest.

you reach for your favorite mug without thinking, tucked behind a mismatched stack of his team ones and a chipped one from a diner you both swore you’d never return to. it’s instinct by now — that familiar blue ceramic one with the tiny crack near the handle that he once tried to glue and failed miserably.

your fingers wrap around it, and something shifts.

it’s too light. hollow. not right.

you tip it slightly and—

a folded note flutters out.

you blink once, then twice, then reach for it with both hands. same soft paper. same looped handwriting. and your name written in cursive.

hi baby,

figured you’d go for this mug. you always do. you say everything tastes better in it and i believe you, even though it makes no sense. but that’s kind of your magic — making the smallest things feel like something more.

you always make things feel like home.

i was thinking about how you’ll probably be standing in the kitchen when you find this. maybe wrapped up in one of my hoodies, hair still messy from sleep. maybe it’s afternoon. maybe it’s one of those slow mornings you like best, where you pad around in socks and put music on before you’re fully awake.

i hope it’s one of those. i hope you let the quiet be soft instead of lonely.

i love that you always start your day with tea. i love how you always hold your mug with both hands, even in the summer. i love the little way you blow on it before every sip. you do that without noticing, but i always do.

sometimes i think i notice too much when it comes to you.

but then again, how could i not?

how could i not look at you like you hung every star in the sky and left one above the stove just to keep me warm when you’re gone?

don’t roll your eyes. i can hear it from here.

take your time this morning, okay? don’t rush around. don’t worry about things that can wait. sit by the window and drink your tea and let the sunlight find your face. let yourself be soft.

i’ll be back before you know it. and when i am, you better be ready to tell me every little thing i missed. even the boring stuff. especially the boring stuff. i wanna know it all.

you make everything matter.

you always do.

yours,

luke

you stare at it for a moment longer, then press it flat on the counter and slide the mug in front of you. pour the water. drop in the bag. hold it with both hands just like he said.

outside, the day is already stretching open.

inside, you let yourself sit still.

you take your first sip and smile.

he was right. it does taste better.

✴︎ in your jewellery tray

you weren’t expecting anything. just moving through the motions — reaching for the gold band you always wear, the one that sits right by the edge of your little jewelry tray. but when you lift it, you catch a glimpse of soft paper, tucked neatly underneath. your breath catches.

you know exactly what it is.

his handwriting greets you before the words do. that familiar curve to his letters, like he tries to fit all his love into every line. you unfold it gently, fingers brushing the edge like it’s something precious.

you read it once, twice, slower the second time — like holding it tighter might bring him closer.

baby,

i know this is where your fingers land when you’re getting ready. and i hope this finds you when you’re still soft. before the noise starts. before the world pulls at you.

i wanted this to be waiting for you here — with your rings and your necklaces and all the little pieces of pretty things you keep close.

because you are the most beautiful thing you own. and maybe you forget that sometimes.

maybe you look in the mirror and think about everything you wish you could change. maybe you get lost in your head. maybe you hesitate before picking what to wear or how to carry yourself. i know how quiet you get when that happens.

so i’ll remind you now.

you’re more than enough. you’re gold even when you’re not wearing any. you shine in every room. you make everything feel like it matters.

and i don’t just love how you look when you’re dressed up or wearing something i gave you — i love who you are when no one’s looking. when you’re just you. my favorite version.

you don’t need any of this. but i know it makes you feel like yourself. and i love that about you, too.

yours,

luke.

you run your fingers along the crease where he folded it, like maybe his fingertips still live there.

then, without thinking, you tuck the note right back underneath the tray — right where you found it. like something to reach for when you need it again.

because you will.

and it’ll still mean the same thing every time.

✴︎ in your textbook

you’ve been hunched over the same paragraph for twenty minutes.

highlighter cap chewed, hair pulled back too tight, fingers smudged with pen ink from taking too many notes that don’t make any sense anymore. your back aches. your neck’s stiff. and every word on the page is starting to look like it was made up just to piss you off.

you push your chair back slightly, cracking your knuckles and blinking hard at the fluorescent light above.

one more chapter.

you reach for the next textbook in the stack, flipping it open roughly — and something slips out from between the pages. a soft sound. the quiet flutter of paper against paper.

your gaze drops to your lap.

a folded note. familiar handwriting.

your chest tightens.

your fingers unfold it slower this time, careful like it’s something fragile.

hi sweet girl,

i know you’ve probably got that face on right now. the one where your eyebrows get all tight and your mouth does that little pout you don’t know you’re doing. you only make that face when you’re focused. or overwhelmed. or both.

i know you work hard. i know you carry a lot — way more than anyone even realizes.

and i also know you won’t stop. not until it’s done. not until it’s perfect. not until you’ve pushed yourself past the point where you should’ve stopped to breathe.

so this is me, asking you to breathe.

just for a second.

you’re allowed to pause. you’re allowed to rest. nothing about you becomes less worthy or impressive or brilliant just because you put the pen down for a minute.

you don’t need to prove anything to anyone. not to me. not to yourself.

you’re already enough.

i love how smart you are. how curious. how you always want to understand things deeply, fully, completely. i love that you fight for what you want, even when it’s hard. even when it’s exhausting.

but you don’t have to fight all the time. not alone.

i’m proud of you.

whether you get every answer right or none at all. whether you feel like you’re on top of the world or buried underneath it. i’m proud of you just for trying.

and i’m always, always in your corner.

now, please, sit back. stretch. unclench your jaw. go fill your water bottle. walk around the room. take ten slow breaths.

i’ll be home soon. and when i am, i’ll make you close your laptop and lie on my chest while we watch that boring documentary you like. you’ll complain about being behind, and i’ll remind you that you deserve a break anyway.

because you do.

you deserve all the gentleness this world can offer.

and if it won’t give it to you — i will.

i love you. even with ink on your fingers and stress in your spine and your brain full of too much.

especially then.

always then.

yours,

luke

you exhale before you even realize you were holding your breath. the paper shakes just slightly in your hand.

you set it down beside your laptop and lean back in your chair.

just for a minute.

just like he asked.

just like he knew you would.

✴︎ tucked into your purse

the morning’s rushed. not in a bad way — just that usual kind of chaos where everything’s a little off-kilter without him. the bed’s colder. the hallway’s too quiet. you keep reaching for things you forget he’s taken with him — like the water bottle he always steals or the hoodie that somehow ended up in his suitcase.

your phone buzzes with a reminder: “class @ 10.” you groan and throw your bag over your shoulder, slipping on your sneakers while holding your toast between your teeth. and it’s only when you’re on the train, tucked into your usual window seat, that you dig through your purse for a lip balm — and find the note.

folded in half, pale blue paper. his handwriting. you feel it before you even read it.

the way your chest softens. the heat behind your eyes.

you look around. nobody’s watching. you unfold it slowly.

my love,

you always carry so much.

your phone. your pens. your keys. your snacks. your emergency lip gloss. your receipts you never throw out. your hope. your ridiculously soft heart.

and i just wanted to say — thank you for carrying me, too.

i know it’s not always easy loving me. i know i get in my own head, and i disappear into games, and sometimes i forget how to say things the way you need to hear them. but you keep me close anyway. always. without question.

so i’m leaving this here, tucked next to your sunglasses and gum wrappers, to remind you that i see you.

you, who always holds everyone else.

you, who deserves to be held back.

and i will, even when i’m a thousand miles away and the only thing between us is this folded-up piece of paper and all the love i poured into it.

be gentle with yourself today.

and text me a picture when you look cute (so like, immediately).

i love you like it’s etched into every part of me.

i can’t wait to come back home to you.

i love you.

yours,

luke.

you fold it up slowly, like it’s something breakable.

and for a second — even though he’s across the country, playing hockey in some freezing arena with screaming fans and bright lights — he feels close enough to touch.

you tuck the note back between your wallet and your travel-sized hand lotion.

your lips are trembling, but your heart feels full.

✴︎ in your makeup bag

it’s tucked beneath your brushes — a little rectangle folded with the edges curled, like it had to be squeezed between the palettes and tubes and tiny bottles that clatter around inside.

your heart stutters when you see it.

there’s something almost ridiculous about the way it hits you. because it’s not just a note. it’s him. it’s his fingers on the paper, his dumb little smirk while hiding it, the way he always acts like it’s no big deal even though he spent forever choosing the words.

you pluck it out slowly, smoothing the creases. you already know it’s going to make you blush.

hi beautiful girl,

you’re probably sitting there surrounded by all your little pretty things — the powders and balms and sparkly stuff you like — and i just want to say this:

you don’t need any of it.

but i love that you love it. i love the way you sit cross-legged and focus so hard. i love the way you poke your tongue out when you’re doing your mascara. i love how you talk to yourself in the mirror like you’re hyping up a best friend — because you are. and because you should.

and yeah, okay — maybe i also love how hot you look after. sue me.

you always look good. but when you do your little routine and throw me that “how do i look?” look, i’m already losing my mind before you even finish the sentence. like yeah. yeah, baby. you look insane. you look like every part of you was made for me to stare at. you always do.

also — if you’re packing this bag to go somewhere… text me. so i can remind you that no one’s allowed to flirt with you but me.

love you. want you. like all the time.

even when there’s glitter on your nose and lip gloss in my hoodie.

your biggest fan (and your boyfriend, but mostly your fan),

luke.

you press the paper to your chest for a second. laugh, because of course he notices the highlighter on your nose. sigh, because he makes even a makeup bag feel like a love letter.

you fold it up again and slip it right back where you found it — tucked under your mascara, hidden like a secret you get to carry around.

he’d be proud of how good you look today.

but you already know —

he thinks you’re breathtaking no matter what.

✴︎ in your sock drawer

it’s ridiculous how much you miss him.

you’re not even being dramatic. it’s just — the little things. the way the bed stays cold longer. the way no one’s there to complain about your freezing feet. the way his absence hums through the apartment like a low, aching chord.

you mutter under your breath as you dig through the drawer, trying to find the thick socks — the soft ones with stars on them. and then you see it.

a note. pale blue, folded with purpose.

you already know what it says before you open it.

you already know he was smiling when he wrote it.

sweet girl,

if you’re reading this, your feet are probably freezing.

again.

how do you always forget to wear socks around the apartment when it’s cold? and how are they always that cold? it’s insane. i swear your toes are made of icicles.

and i miss them. i miss you.

i miss the way you climb into bed and pretend you’re being subtle before pressing those frozen feet to my thighs like it’s some kind of punishment. i miss the way you giggle when i flinch. i miss the smug little smile you get after, all warm and evil.

i’d let you do it a hundred more times if it meant you were next to me right now.

you could turn the entire bed into a winter storm and i’d still pull you closer. because cold feet or not, you’re mine. and you belong tucked under my arm, with my hand wrapped around your ankle, complaining just to hear you laugh.

find the fuzzy socks. put them on.

and then, when you miss me, imagine me holding your feet and threatening to exile them from the blanket if they get too cold. (i never actually would. you know that.)

love you always, even when your toes are an act of war.

luke.

you laugh. out loud.

the sound bounces off the walls, and you feel a little less lonely.

you slide the socks on slowly, tug them all the way up, and whisper into the quiet room,

“i miss you too.”

and just like that — your feet still cold, heart warm to the brim — you feel like you’re wrapped up in him again.

#sweet boy!#I love him so bad #lh43

415 notes · View notes

snoopyhughes · 6 days ago

Text

✶ DATE NIGHT INSECURITIES ; JACK HUGHES !

➪ summary: jack's date night plans with his girl get changed when he finds out she hasn't been feeling like herself lately

➪ pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

➪ warnings: insecurities, mentions of paparrazi and hate comments

➪ word count: 2.4k

➪ emma's notes: stop bc i forgot this is one of my favorite jack fics i've written

It wasn’t all the time that Jack got to have two consecutive nights off during the season, especially between home games, so date nights out in New Jersey were a rare thing to come by for him and his girlfriend. In actuality, date nights like tonight were a rare occasion for the couple.

Y/n wasn’t a fan of going out in public, and not in the sense that she didn’t want to be seen with Jack, because of course, she did. But the thought of having to showcase herself to the paparazzi had her stomach churning uncontrollably.

With insecurities, there came good days where she would lounge on the couch in one of Jack’s hoodies eating a whole pizza if her body allowed, bad days where now and then throughout her day she would notice something “off” about her and let it plague her for the rest of the day no matter where she was or what she was doing, and down-in-the-dumps days where she would wake up already self-conscious of how she looked - her hair flying out of her ponytail, dark circles beneath her eyes, her breath smelling like she ate too many cloves of garlic - and as the hours passed, her thoughts multiplied.

Today had been one of those down-in-the-dumps days, which only fueled her anxiety as the clock ticked closer and closer to when the two were supposed to leave. She’d woken up with this sinking feeling in her stomach, slowly crawling out of bed so as not to disturb Jack as he continued to sleep peacefully. She’d spent more time than normal in the shower, in front of the mirror, in the kitchen as she debated what to eat for breakfast.

And once she got home from work, she sat on the floor of their shared closet, eyes darting around to the shirts and dresses that were hanging. She’d been through at least five different outfits, all of them now surrounding her on the ground.

Almost an hour later, she finally settled on a black dress, one that she had worn plenty of times and never failed to make her feel comfortable. She’d only gotten it halfway on before she remembered the zipper in the back of the dress, groaning softly. And so she settled on the only thing she knew to do, “Jack!”

She could hear Jack’s footsteps as he came running down the hallway, catching himself on the door frame to prevent himself from continuing to slide, “What? What’s wrong?”

Y/n turned around, unable to stifle her giggles as her eyes raked over him; his shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled, his hair a mess, and his tie loose, almost as if he just came from a college party. She shook her head, walking over to him to run a hand through his hair and kiss his cheek, “Nothing, I just need your help zipping my dress up.”

It was only then that Jack looked at her up and down, grinning when he saw what she was wearing, “I love this dress on you.”

She flushed at his statement, walking back to the mirror to fix the dress, tugging at it slightly. Jack grinned even more when he noticed the color of her cheeks, “Good to know I can still make you blush this much after a year.”

He made his way to stand behind her, placing his hands on her hips, and leaning his head down so his chin was resting on her shoulder. He looked at her through the mirror, watching as she fixed her necklace and earrings, fiddled with her hair so it lay just how she wanted it to, straightened her dress, and tugged at the fabric against her stomach to stop it from clinging to her skin.

He didn’t think much of it initially and just moved the hair away from the left side to the right and turned to kiss her lightly on the neck. The action caused her to shiver a little, but ultimately left her with a smile.

Jack’s hands worked carefully on zipping her dress up, every so often brushing her back gently and placing a kiss on her cheek or temple. When the zipper reached the top of the fabric, his hands slipped around to her front, arms circling her waist, “Baby.”

She hummed softly, but her eyes were trained on the mirror, letting herself be leveled with her own scrutiny, pointing out everything she thought was wrong; the way her hair fell flat, the way her dress highlighted her figure in all the wrong ways, the way her makeup looked caked on.

When he heard nothing but her quiet sound of acknowledgement, he looked back up, locking on the frown on her face through the mirror. He furrowed his eyebrows, arms tightening their grasp, “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, plastering a fake smile on her face as she turned to face him, “Nothing, Jacky, I think I’m just gonna put on some tights underneath it and maybe some shorts.”

And usually, he would’ve let it slide, wouldn’t so much as bat an eye to her words because it was cold out, it was the middle of January. But the way she looked, the way her eyes narrowed whenever she’d see something new that she didn’t like, he knew there was something wrong.

He sighed, arms holding her in place, “Don’t.”

“Jacky, we’re gonna be late.”

“Don’t do this.”

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

She shied away from him, attempting to escape his grasp again, but he held her hips, turning her to face the mirror, which only made her shift uncomfortably. Jack rolled his eyes, leaning his chin down to rest on her shoulder, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing to tell, let's just go before they decide they don’t want to serve us.”

“We are not leaving this apartment, this room, until you tell me what’s going on, even though you know I know what you’re pretty little head is thinking about right now.”

She stopped fighting and looked down, causing Jack to spin her around once more, lifting her chin so her eyes were looking directly into his. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just one of those days, I guess.”

He knew there was more; he always knew. Jack knew about how she didn’t like going out for date nights because she didn’t want to have any unexpected pictures taken of her, how she hated posting on Instagram because she’s always scared that the only comments she’ll get are one’s commenting about how ‘ugly’ she looked, that she hated summer because she could never wear what all the others girls were wearing and feel good about it, and that she hated going to his games wearing his jersey because girls always made comments about him never wanting to be with her.

“I know that’s not all that’s bothering you, sweetheart. And you know that too,”

He backed up to sit on the chest in front of their bed. And just like Jack knew whenever she was lying, she knew that as soon as he sat down on the chest, he’d pat his left thigh, beckoning her over. She knew that if she stood there, not giving in to him, he’d sit and pout like she was personally offending him, giving her those puppy dog eyes.

This time, however, she was determined to stand her ground, “No. I’m putting tights and shorts on, and then we’re leaving.”

Jack rolled his eyes but kept sitting. She stared at him, and he had no problem with staring right back, another one of their daily staring contests starting. He broke eye contact first, causing y/n to let out a little cheer before heading into the closet to change. Rules were rules, when someone won the staring contest, they won the argument, no matter the pettiness level.

He sat patiently on the trunk as he watched her close the door of the closet. He knew this was not a bad day; he knew it was a down-in-the-dumps-and-everything-that-can-go-wrong-manages-to-go-wrong kind of day. He knocked on the door and halted her actions, “Put your sweats on.”

“What?”

“I said, put your sweats on, my hoodie, and get your pretty ass out to the living room in five minutes. Take your makeup off, too, and put your hair up.”

She was confused, but she had no complaints about his words; wearing sweats definitely beats having to wear tights and shorts and a dress. And wearing his hoodie? That beat everything.

She came out five minutes later and sat on the couch, crossing her legs, Jack having already ordered food and put her favorite TV show on. He wrapped one of his arms around her waist and pulled her into his side as close as he could without her being on top of him, not that he would have minded her in his lap in the slightest.

“Talk to me, please.” His voice sounded like he was pleading, and he was. He wanted to make all of her insecurities go away, shower her with kisses, and make her feel loved. And if he accomplished that and was able to cuddle her, he would be more than okay to do this every day instead of going out.

She sighed, and Jack gave her his hand so she could fiddle with her fingers, something she always did when she got anxious, “I wasn’t lying when I said it was one of those days.”

She took a deep breath before continuing, “It’s just- that dress was the dress I could always count on myself knowing I would look good in. I don’t usually have to think about it too hard; I could just put it on and go. When you zipped it up, I could tell it fit a little tighter than it usually did, and it just felt…” She couldn’t exactly describe what she felt, how she felt. If you knew the feeling, you knew the feeling.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she gripped his hand tighter, “I just want to feel pretty, Jack.”

That absolutely, utterly, broke, no shattered, his heart. He hated that his girl had to feel like this, hated that society had made it so not only her but every girl that didn’t look like the stereotypical one had to feel like they weren’t beautiful. All logical reasoning flew out of his head at that point, pulling her into his lap like it was the only place she was meant to be. She didn’t even have the energy to protest and dug her head into his shoulder.

His own tears welled up in his eyes as he listened to her cry, it was one of his least favorite sounds in the whole world, maybe the worst sound he’s ever heard.

Minutes passed before she pulled her head away from his chest, and he reached out, cupping her cheeks, letting the coolness of his hands lessen the heat of her cheeks. She sniffled, reaching her hand up to wipe her nose, as Jack wiped the tears for her.

“I want you to listen to me, y/n. And please, actually listen to me.”

She nodded, still trying to rid the remnants of tears off her face, “You are beautiful, no matter who tells you differently. I will always think you’re beautiful. I know that self-love is the most important kind of love there is, and it breaks my heart every time I see you look at yourself a little longer in the mirror in the mornings or when you pull at the fabric of your shirt while you’re working at the kitchen table. And I am more than willing to help you feel beautiful all day, every day.

“I know that you’re not going to feel pretty all of the time, everyone has those days. Even me, pretty boy Hughes.”

His comment made her laugh a little, and he smiled when he heard it. That was one of his favorite sounds in the world. He smiled a little more when he felt her hand run through his hair, “There’s my girl.”

This comment makes her blush instead, and that causes him to smile even more, “And there is the blush that I still cannot believe I make you do. Somehow, you just got ten times more gorgeous.”

Her cheeks reddened even more, and he chuckled a little at it this time. He moved his hands from her cheeks to her hips, his thumbs resting under her sweatshirt and rubbing soft circles into her skin, “There will always be someone to say something, trust me, and I wish I could take it all away so it wouldn’t hurt you. But, I want you to know that I love you for you, and I could never imagine myself loving anyone else.

“Anyone could have a model as their girlfriend or their wife, but only I can have you. And that’s what makes me love you, y/n. Not the way you look, though I adore how you look, but instead the way you smile when you see me every time, the way you always cuddle me after a rough game, the way you know when something is wrong, the way you treat everyone like they hung the stars, and the way you moan-”

“Jack!”

He laughed, throwing his head back in the process, his hands subtly tightening on her hips, “My point is, before you so rudely interrupted me listing the things I love about you.” She slapped his arm before smiling at him, “You don’t need to live up to anyone else’s expectations of beautiful when you think you are. As long as you think you’re beautiful, that’s all that matters, as long as you do it for you and not for anyone else.”

Tears pricked at her eyes once more, this time out of love and happiness, “I love you.”

He kissed her cheek and then kissed her, making her jump in shock a little before melting into the kiss. His hands moved further up underneath her sweatshirt, and he moved to kiss her neck, causing her to let out a soft moan when he hit her sensitive spot right on the dot. That made him grin as he pulled away. That was his favorite sound in the world.

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snoopyhughes · 7 days ago

Text

Love Suffers

Love suffers long and is kind. It is not proud. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things. Love never fails… Now these three things remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love

“Hey, I thought I might catch you when your class ended but I guess not,” You speak into the phone, “So, call me back when you can. Or text, or whatever. Just, whenever you’re free.”

You consider saying something more but no words come to mind, hanging up the call to end the message.

That was the third day in a row that Conrad hadn’t picked up your call. Not to say that he had been ignoring you, just more that your schedules hadn’t been aligned much.

It had been three months since Conrad had started at Stanford. He would be returning home for thanksgiving soon. To say the long distance had been hard would be somewhat of an understatement. It had been a big test on your relationship. But, having dated for three years already, your relationship hadn’t exactly been the easiest. You’d gone through the loss of Susannah, the aftermath of him coping with the grief, the battle for the house, the arguments with his brother - and all of those things whilst dealing with him forever pushing people away, including you. But every time your relationship bounced back. You spoke through things, you reminded each other that you loved one another, you figured it out. And it always got better.

In recent weeks you’d been arguing a little more, the kind of arguments that end in silence on the phone call, a decision to talk tomorrow, and a ‘love you’ that felt more like routine than word that either of you meant in the moment. Of course, you still loved him. But it felt like everything had been strained for a while now.

You just needed to see him. That’s all it was. You just needed to see him again.

———

“So, when’s everyone getting here for Thanksgiving?” Cameron asks you, sitting atop the counter beside you.

You ran a surf cafe near the beach - aka a surf shop when the weather was good and just a cafe when the beachgoers consisted of dog walkers and locals. And, whilst Cam was between internships, he came to help you out. Today had been a quiet one and so the two of you had to find other ways to pass the time.

“Well, Con’s meant to be coming back on Tuesday,” You tap your pen against the counter, “And the rest are getting here on Wednesday. I think Jere’s coming with Belly and then Steven and Taylor will come a bit later.”

“Jere and Belly?” Cameron nods, “That’s going well?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” You smile, “I think it’s been good for both of them, especially with her thinking about college with him and everything.”

“What about you and Conrad? How’s it been with him in Stanford?”

“Oh, I forgot, we’ve got to figure out the order forms for this week,” You hit your hands against the strong wooden countertop, “What was it that you said we were low on?”

“Woah woah woah,” Cameron hops down from the countertop, turning around so that the two of you are stood on either side facing each other, “Why are you avoiding the question?”

“I-“ You glance down at your phone in the hopes that a call, or a text, would have come through, “It’s nothing, really.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I think…” You take a breath, “I think maybe the distance is a bit harder than both of us were prepared for. You know? We’d just got back to how things were, especially after everything with Susannah, we were just starting to feel like ourselves again and then… I don’t know.”

A furrow presses between Cam’s dark brows, a worry on his face, a concern that he couldn’t hide.

“It’s not that anything is totally wrong,” You shake your head, “It’s just… he’s busy and I’m busy and I haven’t been able to visit yet and he’s too busy to have weekends back home and like it’s just so much further away. And, I don’t know, sometimes he talks about college and I just realise how little I actually know about what it’s like or what the experience is and he tells me about these people I just don’t know and then I forget things and he has to explain again and then I’m talking about home and it just feels like-“

You stop to take a breath, letting out a little laugh that felt more like a release of the nerves coursing through your veins.

“Yikes, that was a bit of a dump, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologise,” Cam shakes his head, his curls moving unruly as he does, “You know I think this sort of thing happens to a lot of couples. Like, do you remember in high school musical three?”

“Cam…”

“No, no, like when Troy and Gabriella, you know when she goes to Stanford and like they’re just living different lives and stuff,” He persists, “But they figured it out.”

“Right, Troy moves 32 miles away,” You half laugh.

“Point seven,” He corrects you, “It’s 32.7.”

“And I can’t do that, I don’t want to leave Cousins,” You shake your head, “We promised we wouldn’t do something like that - change what we wanted to fit the other person. We’re too young to be making those kind of compromises.”

“Come on, you two have been together for years,” He encourages, “You’ll figure it out. You’re just one of those couples.”

You glance down at your phone, the wallpaper a photo of you and Conrad. It was the two of you after your aunts wedding. He had your heels dangling from one of his hands, a yellow silk dress flowing over your skin, your hair pinned back loosely. Conrad had a black suit on with the top button undone, his tie dangling loose around the shirt. You’d sworn that day was when you realised how much you loved him - something about the words that were spoken.

And, in that moment, the screen fades and lights up once again as a notification comes through.

Sorry, my class ran late. can call now?

“That’s him,” You try to fight back the smile on your features, “Do you mind if I take this?”

“I don’t know I mean…” Cam looks around at the empty shop, “What am I supposed to do about all these customers?”

“Thanks Cam.”

You hurry outside and go to Conrad’s contact to call him as soon as you can.

“Hey, I’m guessing you’ve just left Cam Cameron at the shop?” Conrad says as soon as he picks up the call, “Are you sure you can trust him?”

“No I think he’s probably eating the last slice of carrot cake as we speak,” You laugh.

“Wow, you really need to fire that kid.”

“Nahhh, he’s the only one that would let me take personal calls on work hours.”

Both of you are silent for a moment.

“So how’s your-“

“So about the-“

Both of you stop.

“You first,” You encourage.

“No, um,” Conrad pauses, “I just wanted to say about Thanksgiving weekend.”

“Right, yeah, are you coming tomorrow night?”

“You know, I was going to, but I think it’ll make more sense to come on Wednesday instead, you know?”

You’re silent.

“I’ve just got classes on Tuesday and then by the time I’ve packed and everything it’ll be pretty late it just doesn’t make sense to, you know? I might as well take the Wednesday, get there by the afternoon and then be ready for Thanksgiving.”

“Right but we’d agreed you could come on the Tuesday, we’d see each other for a bit just the two of us and then we’d be ready for when everyone arrived on Wednesday.”

“Come on, it’s a big house, we’ll still manage to have some time alone.”

“Yeah, it’s a big house, don’t you think it feels even bigger when Im staying there by myself?”

“Don’t put that on me, you decided you’d prefer to stay there, that was your choice.”

“Yeah and that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you Con.”

“You think I don’t miss you?” He practically scoffs the words, laced with his venomous tone as they pass down the phone, “If that’s what you’re saying then I think this is a really shitty day, (Y/n).”

You’re silent.

“I’ve got to get to class. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” You bite down on your bottom lip, “Later.”

He hangs up the call.

How did it get to that point? How had a simple conversation turned into an argument right before your eyes? You didn’t have a chance to stop it. You didn’t have a chance to calm it down. It was inevitable. And arguments like that seemed to be becoming more and more inevitable recently.

You feel the tears bubble in your eyes, the pain in your chest tightening, the ache in your heart seeming to contort.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Cam hurries outside, “What’s wrong?”

“I just-“ You shake your head, “I feel like I’m always doing something wrong.”

He wraps his arms around you and you let yourself cry into him, trying to catch your breath. The two of you stay like that until you seem to compose yourself, and Cam pulls away enough to check, his eyes scanning your face as if waiting for you to break once more.

“Come on, let’s just close early today,” He encourages, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “I saved you the last slice of cake.”

———

It’s later that night when you’re back at the Fisher’s beach house. Conrad was right - you had agreed to live there. It was either that or you invest your money into buying your own place. And, in Cousins, it would mean needing a hell of a lot of money. And it just didn’t make sense. Conrad had this house anyway, and whilst you were here you could help with the upkeep and keep an eye on things until the boys came home. Jere came back and forth a lot anyway, and it was nice for you to have a little slice of home in this place - and even more so, feel closer to Conrad when he was so far away. It had worked for the past few months. But, now, alone in the house, with the weight of that phone call weighing on your mind, you couldn’t think of this place as a home. Far from it, in fact.

As you’re stirring your pasta into the creamy tomato sauce, your phone starts to ring. Conrad again.

His contact photo shows up. A photo of him coming into the shop after a surf. The sunlight came from behind him and you could only see his silhouette in the picture, his hair wet and dripping down his body, his muscles carved, his board slung under one arm.

You pick up after the third ring.

“Hey.”

“Hey, are you home now?”

“Um, yeah, I’m just making dinner,” You say, staring down at the pasta in the pan as the sauce now covers each piece.

“I just…” Conrad pauses, “How did it go at the shop today?”

You take a breath, unprepared for such a simple question, “It was okay. Cam booked in some surf lessons with the kids club at the country club, and the cafe was steady all day. How were your classes?”

“Not too bad, there’s one bit in my anatomy class I just don’t get so I’m going over it again now,” He responds, “How much do you know about neuroanatomy and the limbic system?”

“Can’t say it’s my area of expertise.”

The phone line goes quiet between you both.

“What are you having for dinner?”

For a moment you contemplate answering his question. Treating things as if they were normal, responding as if nothing bad had ever happened between the two of you.

“Con I think you need to come home on Tuesday night,” You say it so simply, despite the way your chest twists tightly as if trying to wrap onto the words.

“Wh-“ He exhales, “I just feel like we’re going to fight.”

“Yeah, maybe,” You persist, “But I think you need to come home and I think we need to fight.”

He falls silent, just for a moment, “Okay. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Another silence.

“Alright, angel, put your dukes up.”

———

Conrad does come home on that Tuesday night. And you find yourself listening out for the sound of his car like the anticipation is about to consume you. When you hear the car in the driveway, the nerves flood through you as if you’re about to meet him for the first time. It did feel like the first time. The first time since he’d been at Stanford.

“There she is!” Conrad beams as soon as you open the door, taking his duffel bag out from the passenger seat of his truck.

You don’t say anything, just run down the few steps over to him and wrap your arms around him as quickly as possible. It’s as if, in that exact moment, everything melts away. All of the worry, the fear, the stress, it melts between the two of you and dissipates in that single contact. You can breathe again. For the first time since August, it’s like you can breathe again.

“I’ve missed you,” He mumbles into your hair, his arms even tighter around you, “Really, really missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” You say softly, leaning back just enough to see him.

The same eyes, the same cheekbones, the same jaw, the same lips. And within an instant, he presses those lips to yours - soft, sweet, delicate. You’d missed this.

“Come on, let’s get inside,” He says, “You’ve not even got shoes on.”

“Yeah I should’ve thought that through,” You giggle, “I just wanted to see you.”

“Come on,” Conrad laces his hand with yours, the two of you walking up towards the house together.

You’d spent the fall fixing up the last things that needed fixing from after the party - cleaning where you could, putting things back where they belonged, repainting a few walls. But, one thing you made absolute certain of was keeping everything in the way Susannah would’ve had it. That’s what would matter to Conrad - making sure this place still felt like the home they’d had with her. One thing, the thing you were most proud of, was that you’d managed to fix a vase that had broken amongst the mess of the party. It was the vase Susannah used to use specifically for the flowers that the boys would buy her. You’d spent weeks tying to re-work it - figuring out which piece went where, letting glue dry before you attempted the next bit. And now, apart from one obvious crack at the back, it looked almost as good as new.

“How was the journey?” You ask him as he sets his bag down at the door.

“Long,” Conrad grimaces, “But not too bad.”

He glances around at the house, his eyes falling to where the pictures lined the wall going up the stairs. Each of the paintings Susannah had done of the kids. They’d been taken down when Aunt Julia moved everything out.

“They’re,” Conrad smiles, just softly, “They’re in the wrong order.”

You feel your heart drop, your stomach sinking with it. That’s what he’d noticed. Nothing else.

“Mom always put them in a specific order,” He continues.

“Right,” You swallow the lump in your throat, shaking your head, “It won’t take long to switch them around.”

“Wh-“ He turns around to you, “No, yeah, no, I know. I didn’t mean-“

“You know, I think I’m going to have a shower, um, wash my hair and stuff before everyone gets here tomorrow,” You swallow once again, thickly, “There’s dinner in the oven, I made your favourite. It should be ready in a couple of minutes.”

“(Y/n) I…”

“I’ll just have mine when I’m done.”

Within an instant, you hurry up the stairs, into the bedroom and closing the door behind you. You feel the contortions in your chest, the weakness buckling your knees, tears building in your eyes.

—

As you shower, the pressure in your head seems to dissipate just enough to become bearable. For the next couple of days, you’d question every movement he made - wondering if this was the beginning of the end or, in fact, if that’s what the past few months had already been. And yet he’d kissed you with such a love in his touch that it felt no different than the first day you two had started dating. The way he’d held you. Or had he? You started to question it then. Had he held you just in return for you holding him? Had he kissed you because he felt like that was the next step? Had he told you he missed you because he knew it was what you wanted to hear? If it were up to him, you would have been alone tonight. And, now, alone in here, you were starting to think that maybe that was the better option.

Once you’re done, moisturised, hair wrapped up in a towel, body wrapped in a robe, you step back out and into yours and Conrad’s room.

There he is.

He’s sat at the foot of the mattress, shoulders hunched over, hands holding the vase, his thumb smoothing over the ceramic.

“You fixed it.”

His words are soft, quiet, and yet seem to fall so heavily in the space between you.

He looks up when you don’t respond, “How did you- I mean, I don’t even know how you… how did you do it?”

“A lot of glue, patience and probably a few tears.”

Conrad exhales something close to a laugh, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” You say, “I was going to put flowers in there but I thought it might be nicer if you came with me to buy them - to keep the tradition.”

“I-“ He shakes his head, “You’re amazing, you know that? You’re incredible.”

“It was nothing, really,” You return, going to busy yourself with putting away your things.

“Wait, wait, please,” He sets down the vase and jumps up to block your path, “Please stop.”

You swallow, avoiding his eyes for now.

“You’ve done everything. Even the silly little trinkets, everything is exactly where it normally is. It looks exactly like home,” He persists, his eyes scanning your face in the hopes that your eyes would eventually meet his, “I know it can’t have been easy, being here by yourself and everything. But… I mean, you did all of this and I…”

“It’s okay,” You whisper the words, unintentionally, them catching on the lump in your throat, “Let’s just forget it.”

“Yeah but I-“

“Did you have your dinner?” You clear your throat, walking over to the chest of drawers to pull out some new pyjamas.

Conrad scratches at the back of his neck, clearing his throat, “Yeah, yeah, I did. It was great, thank you. Yours is downstairs if you want it.”

“Yeah, I’ll just get changed.”

You pull on the shorts and then tug open the rope of your robe, letting it fall to the floor as you reach for one of Conrad’s old t-shirts to wear.

He steps behind you, his hands on your bare waist, light and cautious at first. You relax a little into the warm touch, leaning a little back into him so your shoulders brush his chest. Conrad tilts his head down just enough for his lips to press against your shoulder, hovering over the skin so his breath fans hot over where his lips had been. You tilt your head into his, the two of you staying like that momentarily.

“I love you,” He whispers, kissing you again.

“I love you too.”

———

On schedule, Jere and Belly arrive early the next day. The boys go out grocery shopping for the last few things you needed whilst you and Belly start prepping what you can. Taylor and Steven arrive in the afternoon, bringing pie slices from Belly’s favourite spot. Steven says he tried to protest the idea, reluctantly handing Belly a slice of the best flavour. Jere orders in pizzas, enough to feed you all twice. And, eventually, you all end up collapsed onto the couches debating over which movie to watch. In the end, the debate turns into you watching one of Susannah’s favourites, a classic for every thanksgiving.

Jere sits with Belly between his legs, one arm wrapped around her, the other holding the plate of food, pizza slices they were sharing. Taylor is cuddled against Steven’s chest, his arm around her, understated and yet still wrapped in each other. You and Conrad sit beside each other. And somehow that is all. You find yourself shuffling a little closer, just as if you’re trying to get comfortable.

He looks down at you and smiles, and then glances around at everyone else in the room. Within a moment, his hand falls to your thigh, the way he always used to when you’d first started dating. Back then, the two of you were the only couple in the room, and Conrad wanted to find any way to be mildly romantic without everyone causing a scene. His hand would rest there and his thumb would smooth back and forth, sometimes swirling patterns or letters against your skin. Today, his hand remains still, just there in place as if some sort of muscle memory. It should make you feel better, make you feel like he was still here. But the truth was you never felt like he wasn’t here - just that a small part of him might not want to be.

And so, despite the night and your second family and your closest friends and the movie, all you can focus on is his hand on your leg. The part of him that was still holding on.

But you were still holding on too. You tilt your head so that it rests on his shoulder, taking a deep breath. Conrad turns his head and presses a kiss to your hair, and you feel the worry ease.

He was here. So were you. For the first time in months you were together. This is just what you needed, that’s all.

———

For the day that you were coining ‘friendsgiving’, you had invited Cam over too. He’d brought desserts and told you all how happy he was to be there and everyone had greeted him like one of the group. He’d offered to help with dinner but you had that under control. Correction, you had each of the group doing their mini task.

Dinner had been a success, all of you eating far too much until you were silenced into food comas, all grumbling about how much your stomachs hurt.

Despite the November chill, it was a nice day in Cousins and you’d all decided to take the desserts out to the dock to eat there and enjoy the sun.

“Seriously I don’t know how you do it,” Jere shakes his head as he comes back into the kitchen, “I try to cook at college and it never tastes like that.”

You laugh, “You need seasoning Jere.”

“Yeah but even if I do! It always tastes a bit burnt.”

“Are you sure you’re not…” Conrad pauses to laugh, “Burning it?”

Jeremiah narrows his eyes at his brother, “Maybe.”

You take out two pies on their dishes and lift them, trying to balance one on each hand.

“Woah woah let me take that!” Jere interjects quickly, rushing to grab one from you, “Damn Conrad is chivalry really that dead?”

“Shit yeah um let me get that,” Conrad reaches for the other one.

“No I got it don’t worry,” You smile in return, “I’m good.”

He smiles apologetically and hurries forward to open the door before you get to it.

You mouth a quick thank you and step through, walking down across the lawn towards the wooden dock. Yours and Conrad’s first kiss had been on that exact dock. One fourth of July a few years prior, the two of you watching fireworks both nervous to be so close to each other. When you think about it, your stomach still flips the same way it did that night.

“Alright we have pies and we have forks, you can do the rest,” You say to the group, setting down the pies onto the small makeshift table they’d put between the benches.

Jere takes his seat beside Belly, leaving only one seat beside Steven and one beside Cam. You sit beside Cam, smiling at Conrad as he somewhat reluctantly sits away from you.

“Hey, thanks for dinner,” Cam nudges your elbow, “You’re like a proper chef.”

You laugh, “Thanks, wouldn’t have done it without my helpers so thank you everyone.”

Everyone starts cutting into the pies, taking forkfuls and commenting on how they didn’t have room to eat anymore.

“You know we should sell pie at the cafe,” Cam comments, looking down at the forkful of food, “It might help on the days we’re in tears.”

You laugh a little weakly, “Yeah, maybe.”

“You’re telling me pie wouldn’t have made you feel better the other day?”

You feel the lump form in your throat. The words seem lost on the rest of the group, all busy with their own conversations. But there is one pair of eyes focused on you. Worried.

“You cried?” The words seem to contort when Conrad speaks them, a furrow between his brows, a tension in his jaw.

“I-“ You manage to croak out, shaking your head.

“Guys let’s play a game or something!” Taylor interjects, waving her fork around, “Who’s got an idea?”

“Um,” You clear your throat, grateful for the distraction from Conrad’s concern, “Yeah what are we thinking?”

Conrad’s eyes stay focused on you until he accepts he won’t get a response, sighing and closing his eyes momentarily, looking down at the floor and shaking his head gently. In that moment, he shares in the weight on your shoulders, in the tightness in your chest, in the unsettling glance around the rest of the group hoping they didn’t notice anything too much. He looks across at you, on the way you seem small amongst the rest, as if you want to cower away from all of them. He realises then that he can’t remember the last time he’d taken you out for dinner, or a date at all. It must’ve been in the summer. No. Surely not that long ago? Why didn’t he think of going out the day he came home? Why had he ever questioned that he should come home that day early? Why had you had to convince him? Had he told you that he loved you since he’d been home? Oh god. Why couldn’t he remember?

Conrad places a palm to his chest, pressing down as if to stop the tightness from worsening.

But it doesn’t.

Instead, he stands up abruptly and steps away from the group, walking down the length of the dock without looking back.

“(Y/n)?”

It’s Cam’s voice that breaks through the cloud over your head. You look at him as if you’re about to respond but you can’t keep your eyes there for long enough, tearing back to Conrad as soon as they get the chance. You stand up too, glancing around at the group who all look at you somewhat expectantly.

“I have to-“ You blink back the tears in your eyes, not finishing your sentence before your feet were already carrying you quickly towards him.

—

“Conrad!”

He’s down by the side of the house by the time you reach him, alongside the shower he’d always go to after he came back from a surf.

At the sound of your voice, he’s quick to turn around to face you, the tension in his face seeming to relax at the sight.

“I-“ You go to speak but no words come out, “I just…”

Once more, your mind fails you in finding the words you wanted to say. As if in some sort of embarrassment, like trying to speak to a guy you didn’t know, you turn around to disappear away from him.

“Wait.”

In one quick motion, Conrad reaches out for your arm, turning you around and into his waiting embrace. He wraps his arms tightly around you, adjusting as if drawing you closer, his chin resting over your shoulder. For a moment, you’re taken aback, your arms suspended in the air behind him. In that moment, you seem to only consider the resentment, the fear, the worry. And then a few words come to mind, words that seem to repeat over in your head.

The words spoken at your aunt’s wedding. The wedding you’d been to with Conrad. The photo on your phone. The day you’d realised you knew what love was and you had it with him.

In that moment, you let your arms wrap around him and you feel him relax at the contact, squeezing into your tighter as you hold him as close as your grasp can muster.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning between yours, his hands moving to cup your cheeks.

Both of you whisper three words at the same time, speaking this time not over each other but in unison.

“I love you.”

He kisses you for all of the kisses he’d missed in the past month, firm and strong and certain and yours.

You wrap your arms back around him, burying your head into his chest as he towers over you, his chin now atop your head.

Every anxiety every worry every fear seems to dissipate.

“Come on,” He steps back from you and reaches out a hand.

You glance back over to the dock, to the others.

“They’ll be fine without us, come on,” Conrad encourages.

Your fingers lace firmly with his, your other hand holding onto his arm as the two of you start to walk in the opposite direction, away from the rest and away from the house.

———

Eventually, the two of you end up at your shop. When you’d first bought this place, Conrad had figured out a maze of branches with the trees at the back that would let you both get up onto the roof. You’d sat there, a bottle of cheap sparkling wine between you, and toasted to the new chapter of your life. He’d been so proud of you. The two of you hadn’t been up here since he’d first found out about Susannah. He’d told you before he told everyone else.

“Here,” Conrad climbs up and reaches out to help you over from one branch.

He wraps his arms around your waist and helps lift you beside him, the two of you shuffling down until you both face out at the sea view. His arm bumps yours and you feel that spark of energy any contact with him could give you.

“Do you think this roof’s going to give out on us one day?” You mumble, your hands brushing over the rough surface.

“Maybe, when there’s a few more of us,” He glances around, “But we’ve got years before we need to worry about that.”

Your heart swells. The idea of a family. The idea of years to come.

“Cam told me you can see whales off here if you look for long enough,” You comment, squinting out at the quiet seas.

Conrad is quiet for a moment, looking at the sea and then back to you, “So about what Cam said… did I really make you cry?”

You swallow but this time there is no lump in your throat. You knew this was a conversation you needed to have and you weren’t scared to have it anymore.

“It was when you said you weren’t going to come home,” You explain, “I just… I felt like I was losing you.”

“I should’ve never second guessed coming home. I shouldn’t have questioned it even for a minute. Of course I should’ve been home, as soon as I could I should’ve been home,” Conrad shakes his head, “I just felt like I was losing you too. And so I thought the best way of dealing with that was to just avoid it, and if I came back when everyone was already here we could be okay and not argue. I was being a coward - I thought if I avoided it we could just pretend it wasn’t happening.”

“I just never thought distance would be so hard,” You admit, “I just thought I’d miss you and it would be sad, but there’s so much more to it. The miscommunication, the messy schedules, and like I keep thinking of all these little things that happen and you’re not here for them.”

Conrad places a hand over your leg, instinctively.

“Like what?”

“A bird flew into the house a couple of weeks ago,” You laugh, “Like this big crow or something and I had to chase it around with a pot, it was awful.”

Conrad laughs, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you had this midterm you were worried about and we started speaking about that and when you asked how my day had been I felt stupid to tell you that I spent my afternoon chasing a bird around the house.”

“The whole afternoon? Baby how long does it take to catch a bird?”

You both laugh, falling silent together.

“I surfed down the stairs and bruised my ribs,” Conrad admits, grimacing at the thought.

“Wh-“ You scoff, “How did that come about?”

“I got invited to this stupid frat party, I don’t even know how I ended up there, and my roommate wanted to go so we did and… I drank way too much, like way too much, and they had this little prop surfboard on the wall so I convinced everyone I could surf down the stairs.”

“And… you couldn’t?”

“No, no, I could,” Conrad nods, “But I didn’t really think about how to get off and I fell into this table, straight on my ribs.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you called me the next morning and you were talking about how busy the shop had been and how this guy was talking to you about investing, and you were bringing up all this finance and business stuff and I realised Im dating an actual adult, not a drunk idiot that surfs down the stairs.”

“It’s like we’re scared to tell each other what’s actually happening,” You confess, “I’d rather know everything, not just the big important stuff.”

“Even the boring stuff?”

“Even the stuff I don’t understand.”

Conrad wraps an arm around your shoulders, kissing your temple, squeezing you tight into his torso.

The light lowers over the horizon, moonlight starting to trickle over the surface of the waves, crashing over the sand.

You were convinced in this moment that things couldn’t get better. But the exciting thing about being with Conrad was that any day could be better than the one before. Any day could be the day that reminds you of just how much you loved him. Any single day. Any single moment.

#I love him so bad!!#this is perfect #this is so connie #connie baby

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snoopyhughes · 7 days ago

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ꊞ LACEYHEARTS DINER EVENT !

welcome to laceyhearts diner !

ꊞ WELCOME IN !

➪ hello everyone and welcome to my diner event!

➪ this is purely for fun, no special occasion, i just wanted to write some more and get some new content out instead of some of my old fics!

➪ please make sure to read all rules before requesting !

➪ accepting requests: monday, july 21, 2025 12:00 AM CST to thursday, july 31 11:59 PM CST (any requests sent before or after these times will be deleted, no exceptions ) this day may be altered at any time bc... well i'm me

➪ open to any people on my who i write for list, if you've seen me write for someone else in the past and wonder if i'll write for them again for this, feel free to ask!

➪ i hope to get these requests done pretty quick, if there are any delays i will let me know

➪ just a reminder: if i feel uncomfortable writing one of your requests or you don't follow any of the rules, i will not be writing it

➪ prompts: any asks/orders for the "laceyhearts famous grilled cheese" does not need a prompt, up to 2 prompts per ask/order, please write prompt(s) out in the ask/order

➪ sample order/ask: "can i please order a handcrafted milkshake with 'you can hold my hand, if it makes you feel safer', with luke hughes?"

➪ to find all the blurbs related to this event, you can find them under this tag: ˚ ༘ ꊞ ꒰ laceyhearts diner event ! ꒱

ꊞ MAY I TAKE YOUR ORDER? ; THE GENRE !

➪ grandma's homemade pancakes ; you've ordered grandma's homemade pancakes! grandma's food is a classic, can never go wrong with it, makes you feel warm, homey, and cozy (fluff!)

➪ basket of salty french fries ; you've ordered a basket of salty french fries! some people like it salty, and that's okay. this is for the people who love to leave the diner with their tongue dry and eyes watering (angst!)

➪ handcrafted milkshake ; you've ordered a handcrafted milkshake! laceyhearts diner specializes in making tooth aching, rotting milkshakes that can make your stomach churn especially if you're lactose intolerant (but sometimes we don't care) (hurt/comfort!)

➪ 2-for-1 combo meal ; you've ordered the two-for-one combo meal! our two-for-one combo meal is great to share with a friend no matter what it is! pair our famous mac and cheese with pancakes, fries, or even a shake! (platonic!)

➪ laceyhearts famous grilled cheese ; you've ordered laceyhearts famous grilled cheese! our grilled cheese is made from an original, family recipe and can only be bought here! (au asks, thoughts, etc.)

ꊞ ANYTHING ON THE SIDE? ; THE PROMPT !

➪ would you like some sauce? or maybe a special flavor in your milkshake? customize your order with these prompts! (can mix and match within genres if you wish, no more than 2 prompts per order. grilled cheese orders do not need a prompt and please write prompt in order/ask)

➪ fluff prompts

➪ angst prompts, 2

➪ hurt/comfort prompts

ꊞ ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR CHECK? ; EXTRAS !

➪ did you want something else? maybe you're longing for one of our cupcakes or an extra side of eggs? feel free to let me know any other information you want me to include in the blurb, whether it's a trope or something as simple as when it takes place

#boosting!#elle’s moots

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snoopyhughes · 8 days ago

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but spam liking shows u that people like your work so I don’t see the problem

It does, yes, I agree! However, Tumblr's always had a glitch and bot problem where if too many of your posts are being liked at once by a single user, it flags it as bot usage and can lead to your blog being shadowbanned or terminated as a sort of punishment. No, it doesn't make a lot of sense if you're not using bots, but it's always been like that, and I've seen it happen to a lot of blogs over the years here.

I hope this helps a little!

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snoopyhughes · 9 days ago

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thanks for the tag sweet ev 🫶🏻i love you!!

currently reading: one golden summer by carley fortune

last song: according to airbuds it was deja vu by post malone and justin bieber

last film: genuinely have no idea 😭 i hardly ever watch movies. probably one of the hunger games movies tbh

last series: slowly but surely getting through the bear s4

sweet/savory/salty: sweet is def number 1, then salty, then savory

tea or coffee: alani energy drinks and starbucks refreshers LOL

working on: theoretically my exchange fic but it’s all just bones rn <3

no pressure tagging: @mactease @star2fishmeg @laceyhearts @heartsforjh <3

TAG NINE PEOPLE YOU WANT TO GET TO KNOW MORE

tried to reblog the original post but it was gone so here we are i guess. thanks for tagging me leigh!!!!! @poemeater <3 i love you to pluto and back come kiss me now

currently reading: nothing actually. walk of shame

last song: man in the mirror — michael jackson

last film: captain america brave new world

last series: new girl season 3, mha season 2 (rewatch), wbk s2

sweet/savory/salty?: savory + salty!!! but i would give up both kidneys for some cinnamon sugar pretzels rn

tea or coffee: tea always

working on: packing to move states in july, weeding through some rough friendships that no longer serve me, picking up guitar again, and. well. kinktober ‘25

no pressure tags 🤍 @carminechrollo @admiringlove @madaqueue @cheralith @bouqette @mochiqa @mosskissed @storiesoflilies @toadba @tokeposts @hiraethwrote sorry if you’ve been tagged i tried to choose people i haven’t tagged in awhile/at all hehe

#elle talks #how fun!

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snoopyhughes · 9 days ago

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Nah but let’s acknowledge the REAL MVP of the night

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snoopyhughes · 11 days ago

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a love letter to myself 🩷

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snoopyhughes · 11 days ago

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bleeding love, me94

in which mark’s pining finally has some success. (18+)

heyyyyy.. here y'all go :) (6.5k)

mark estapa was becoming more and more annoying to you by the day. you tried your very best to avoid him, ignore his existence, but it was hard when he’d become a staple in your best friends life.

he’d been pining after you for years, and you only noticed the day he and hadley became friends, her having promptly dragged him with her to your guy’s daily lunch meeting. he was so terribly obvious, but you knew it was never going to happen

you were never fond of the jock types, knowing involvement with them rarely ended well. despite this mindset, hadley did eventually end up with mark’s close friend ethan. and since then, mark was completely unavoidable.

tonight was a special circumstance as well, some rude fangirl having shoved hadley at a wolverines game and mark coming to her defence as quick as he could while ethan was still in the dressing room.

and, in the name of hadley being teary eyed and a little scared, you reluctantly agreed at her request that you come with her to ethan and mark’s apartment to watch movies.

it was nearly three in the morning when hadley started to feel tired. the four of you were surrounded by pizza boxes and blankets, watching what was probably your fifth consecutive movie in a marathon where no two people had the same taste, and someone was always confused.

ethan and hadley were curled up together in the corner of the couch, her head beginning to feel heavy on his shoulder as she nestled closer to his neck and dozed off. mark was sprawled across the rest of the couch awkwardly, stretching his limbs as far as he could manage so the dull ache of restlessness in them might ease off. you were staring at the screen coldly from the loveseat, legs thrown over the armrest and hands tangled in your hair as you braided it to occupy your mind.

ethan felt hadleys nose bump into the side of his neck, and looked down at her from the corner of his eye. a small smile etched its way onto his face as he realized that she’d been falling asleep, and he combed her hair away from her face, humming quietly to get her attention.

her fist clenched around the fabric of his shirt as she hummed back, trying to tug him closer to her despite the two already being gelled together.

“want to head to sleep, baby?” he asked, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. mark paused the movie and looked over at the two of them, waiting for hadley to make her choice. you looked over as well, hiding the smile that threatened to break out at the sight of your two friends.

she didn’t answer though, only hiding herself further away into his grasp. he chuckled, adjusting her in his lap and standing up, lifting her with him. “good?” he asked, adjusting his grip on her and letting her fall into him

she simply nodded against his chest, murmuring a goodnight to you and mark as he carried her over to the guest room and laid her down.

you stood from your place on the chair and adjusted your clothes slightly, then hung your head before walking to the door of the house and grabbing your shoes. mark’s eyebrows furrowed softly and he got up, following you.

“where are you going, y/n, it’s three in the morning,” he whispered, grabbing your wrist as you tried to put a shoe on.

“home, mark. i can’t just stay here.” you pulled your arm away from him and slid a shoe on, kicking the other one onto your hand.

“yes, you can. take my bed, i’ll crash on the couch.” he argued, trying to get you to look up at him without touching you, even if that’s all he wanted. you ignored his offer, though, sliding on your other shoe and opening your phone to call a cab for yourself.

his jaw ticked, and he grabbed the phone from your hand. “what the fuck is your problem, dude, give me that” you snapped, finally looking into his eyes to see the worry laced in them, and the care drowning it.

“i’m not letting you take a cab home at three in the morning, baby. take my bed.” he stated again, pulling his arm back when you tried to reach for your phone.

“i dont have clothes or anything and i’m not taking your bed from you. i’m going home.” you said sharply, and mark only shook his head in response.

“estapa i swear to god-” he stepped closer

“no. you can borrow clothes and we’ll figure the rest out in the morning. take your shoes off and let’s go.” he raised an eyebrow and you scoffed, kicking your shoes back off and following him to his room.

he pulled his closet open, eyeing tshirts he had. he gulped as his eyes landed on a shirt that had his name and number littered on it. ultimately, he went with a plain black one before grabbing some sweatpants and handing them to you in a pile with your phone.

“here. let me know if you need anything, hm? m’ just gonna be on the couch.” he whispered, looking down at you with a soft expression.

you pulled your eyes away from his and nodded, watching as he walked out and closed the door behind him. you bit your lip, quickly changing into the clothes he’d given you before cracking the door open and peeking your head through.

“mark?” you murmured, his head poking up from behind the armrest of the couch.

“don’t want you to have to sleep on the couch. c’mere” you opened the door a bit wider, looking down and heading over to his bed. you climbed in, curling up in the corner and turning his lamp on as he came into the doorframe.

“you’re sure?” he asked, eyebrows scrunched as he inched closer to the bed.

“yeah, whatever. just.. keep your hands to yourself.” you sighed, turning away from him. he whispered a small ‘of course’ before getting into the bed beside you, turning his head to face you.

“you’re staring.” you deadpanned, turning to face him with an unimpressed look.

“you’re gorgeous,” he shot back, smiling softly. you only rolled your eyes and turned back around. and, despite living what he’d like to consider a personal dream of his, mark couldn’t find himself able to get into a comfortable enough position to sleep.

“okay, what is your problem?” you groaned, turning back around again. mark frowned and adjusted his body once more, feeling sort of cramped.

“i don’t know, y/n, maybe i’m freaking out a little bit about sharing a bed with the girl i’ve been insane about for almost two years.” he grumbled slightly, giving you an embarrassed look.

your lips parted a little, and you hoped the lamp was dim enough to mask the flush of your cheeks. “jesus. okay then” you cleared your throat, looking down and bringing the blanket up over your nose.

“i’m serious, y/n. you have no idea how long i’ve waited to hold you like i got to earlier. to be here like this, with you.” he whispered, tilting your head back up so you’d look at him. you stayed silent for a moment before shrugging

“don’t let it get to your head. this is still never gonna happen.” you said, turning back over towards the wall with a huff. mark just looked down, adjusting once more while biting the inside of his cheek to keep his face steady

it was only a handful of seconds before he shifted again, gripping his pillow and moving that around as well.

“jesus christ, you know what?” you groaned, sitting up in his bed. mark’s eyes went concerned for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows at you.

“get comfortable, move.” you continued, gesturing vaguely at the outline of his body through the blankets. he nodded softly and shifted a few times, landing on his side and looking up at you curiously.

you laid back down, placing your head on his chest and throwing a leg over his hip. “if you keep fuckin’ squirming im calling myself a cab. got it?”

he nodded frantically, wrapping an arm around your waist and cinching you closer to him quickly, laying his other hand on your hip before trying to close his eyes.

almost like magic, the warmth of your body against his eased his nerves enough for the exhaust to take over, and for his nose to nestle into your hairline as he finally fell asleep, earning a sigh of relief from you gelled to him in his arms

mark didn’t move a muscle for the rest of the night, but the same couldn’t be said for you.

you’d would move closer, stirring and mumbling slightly in your sleep, grabbing at his arms and his clothes.

it was far past morning when the movement woke up mark. he hummed questioningly, as if to ask if you had been awake, but he was met with no response.

he smiled and let you rest, curled closely into him with a hand splayed on his bare stomach, his shirt moved out of the way in the middle of the night.

he brought up a hand to move your hair out of your face, and was met with a small whine of annoyance. he furrowed his eyebrows, placing his hand back at its spot on your hip.

he leaned his head back against the pillow and let the hand wander, up and down your waist and over the small of your back a few times.

he couldn’t mask the grin that broke across his face when you cooed lightly. but then, you hooked your leg tighter around him and started raking your nails against his v-line

his smile faltered slightly, his ears and neck going bright red along with his cheeks. the warmth only spread further when you murmured his name softly in your sleep, a small whine following suit.

“y/n, baby, you awake?” he whispered, hand stalling over your waist for a moment. there was no response, only the repeated scratching at his waistline that nearly had him throbbing.

“fuck.. y/n, wake up” he hummed, shaking you a little.

“please,” you whimpered, pressure intensifying and your leg twitching against him. his eyes blew wide and your head buried itself further into him, a shaky breath falling from your lips echoing against his heart

the second your hips rolled into him, he lost it. he knew that realistically, he should wake you up and never speak of this again, but every ounce of him wished that he could let you keep going until whatever dream you were having was satisfied

that feeling multiplied impossibly when the sweetest whine tumbled from your lips, and your hips rolled again, your body moving right against his own.

his cock throbbed, eyes clenching shut while the pleasure crawled up his spine.

he’d spent so many months saving himself for you that it’d been too long, and he was so sensitive that every movement you made had him aching for more

“hey… y/n, c’mon baby, wake up” he shook your side once more, the movement of your body doing nothing to calm the pressure on his crotch

he nearly sighed in relief when you groaned tiredly, loosening your grip on him and poking your head out from his chest, eyes cracked open.

“what do you want?” you grumbled, trying to move away from him but being met with strong hands keeping you in place and a hitch of mark’s breath from your leg shifting

“you, uh. fuck, i’m so sorry y/n, i didn’t mean to but you- i don’t know i think you were dreamin’ or something” he gave you a guilt riddled look, and your face flushed as you felt him prodding at the inside of your thigh.

you cleared your throat, trying once again to move away from mark’s hold, only for both his hands to plant on your waist.

“mark-“ you whispered

“sorry, sorry. please stop.. please stop moving” he gasped out, keeping your body as still as it could get.

something burned deep in your stomach then, a little bit of lust left over from your dream numbing your mind enough for you to shift against him, bring your fingertips back to the waistband of his shorts

“you’re a little worked up for first thing in the morning” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes and earning a squeeze of your waist

“you were grinding on me, doll. s’ not my fault” he defended, trying to avoid eye contact.

“doll’s new,” you started, letting your nails scratch under his clothes a little. “and, was i? don’t remember that” you teased, biting back a smile

“my babydoll,” he murmured, feeling hazy from the attention he was getting, especially now that you were doing it on purpose.

“i’m not your anything, mark.” you raised an eyebrow, pulling your hand away from his stomach and earning a huff.

“gonna make you mine. know i will, y’ were begging” he stated, and your expression flinched from neutral for just a second

“for what?” you whispered breathily, almost scared to find out what else came out while you were in your own little world and couldn’t control your mouth.

“f’ me. whined my name so pretty. think you were dreamin’ of me makin’ you feel good” he murmured, and suddenly, he had no issue making direct eye contact, staring right at you as you gulped

“you couldn’t make me feel good if you bet your life on it.” you shot back, voice steady despite your unease.

“no?” he asked, a smile finally cracking his lips. and you knew where you stood on this, you didn’t think guys like him had the capacity to make even the most sensitive girls cum.

but the smug look on his face almost had you reconsidering where he fell in those ranks.

“i can take care of you, hm? if you’re still needy. let me take care of you,” he grabbed your chin, staring at your lips and getting a little lost in the sheen of spit that was covering them.

“fuck off.” you shook your head, and he tightened his grip, eyes flashing back up to yours

“m’ serious. you don’t think i can make you feel good? let me prove that i can.” he mumbled. your heart started racing in your chest, and when you didn’t respond, mark only took it as encouragement.

his lips met your neck, tilting your head back by your hair for better access. he nipped gently, gliding his hand down your spine and squeezing at your waist and hips, then your ass.

“so perfect” he murmured against your skin, now letting his hands roam under your shirt and over the warmth of your skin

his mouth moved down to your collarbone, his shirt so big on you the neckline draped low enough for him to reach it.

your leg twitched, legs adjusting so you could press them together, and mark smiled wickedly, nipping at you once more before pulling the skin of your upper chest into his mouth and sucking gently

“you’re gonna- mark, you can’t” you whispered, knowing all too well that he’d leave you littered with love bites

“mine. my babydoll” was his only response, and your stomach spun, a whine falling from your lips.

you knew how much he liked you, but he’d never shown this side of it- the possessive side where every time you smiled at someone he wanted their head ripped off

the side that wanted you marked and littered with proof of him so that everyone knew that you were his, even if you weren’t quite yet. nobody else should get to have you if he couldn’t.

he bunched the shirt up around your chest, placing a kiss on the top of each of your tits before sucking marks onto each of them carefully, teeth grazing your skin every once in a while

when he was satisfied with his markings, he wrapped his lips around your left nipple and sucked softly, pushing his nose deeper into your flesh and earning a squeeze of your thighs

“mark,” you whispered, and he hummed against your chest, earning a hitch of your breath

you tried to grab one of his hands and hook his fingers into your waistband, but he shook his head quickly, immediately going back to his attention to your chest

“m’ taking my time. i’ve waited long enough, be patient.” he said, moving his attention to the other boob

“said you’d make me feel good” you bit back, glaring down at him. he only winked, letting his eyes flutter shut as he enjoyed his time on you.

you grumbled slightly, pulling your hand from his stomach and moving to bury it down your own pants, but mark had your wrist in his fingers and you pinned on your back before you could manage.

“fuck, mark, can you just-“ you groaned, so very frustrated but still clinging onto your thoughts enough to stop yourself from doing what you knew he wanted- for you to plead for his touch.

“what, baby. what do you need?” he hummed, lapping at your nipples before kissing down to your ribs, taking his sweet time on your tummy.

“hm? tell me what you need, angel” he repeated, soothing his hands over your thighs and moving one up to your stomach

“n- ngh. no. don’t need anything.” you forced out, trying not to lose the rest of your mind at how big his hands were, on you, covering your whole stomach.

“no, but you want it though, don’t you? s’ okay. i’d give you anything, babydoll. just gotta ask” he whispered, his nose prodding at your belly button while his teeth messed with the string of your pants.

“mark, please, i- fuck. want you to make me feel good. want to cum, please,” you gripped his hair between your fingers and your hips jolted underneath him, a soft smile etched onto his lips

“yeah?” he asked, hooking his fingers into your pants and tugging them down slowly

“yeah,” you sighed, relieved. he hummed in response, eyes blowing wide at the site of you in just his shirt and your panties, delicate lace soaked right through and warm with need for him

“fuck me, you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” he whispered, kissing right above the line of your panties and placing his thumb gently over the wet spot on them

a soft gasp fell from your lips, your eyes fluttering shut and your grip on his hair tightening, almost expectantly.

“so wet f’ me.. god you have no idea how long i’ve dreamed of this, of you. you’re so perfect” he said, so quiet it was like he was talking to himself, maybe like he thought he was still dreaming

“mark..” you gasped slightly, the pressure of his thumb increasing and a small circle being traced around your core. your thigh twitched next to his head, so eager for more stimulation you thought the need in your stomach was gonna burn a hole right through your skin

“i know, doll. i know” his free hand slid over one of your thighs as he kissed the inside of it, your hips raising towards his face desperately

“oh, baby.. want my mouth?” he asked, the teasing in his voice only intensifying the butterflies in your stomach.

“mh.. want your mouth, your hands, please, mark. want it so bad” you whined, squirming under him.

he cooed, pulling your panties down your legs gently. his heart pounded right through his chest when he finally got to see you.

“god..” he murmured, thumb running through your wet folds slowly as he admired you.

“mark.. mark, please,” you whimpered, tugging lightly at his hair and earning a disapproving hum

“shh, babydoll. m’ just lookin’ at how perfect you are.. been so good for me, just gotta have a little patience, yeah?” he soothed, kissing at your thighs again.

and, like his words melted every last thought of disdain for him out of your head, you nodded obediently. all you could feel or think was him, the heat of his breath on your cunt, the praise he had for you ringing in your ears

his hands moved to pry your thighs open a little further, and his shoulders slotted themselves between them.

he placed the gentlest kiss over your clit, sighing into you and opening his mouth to pull the bud between his lips. he suckled softly, groaning into you when your taste hit his tongue.

the sensation had your head lolling back, so much build up and ache for him that just a touch had the sweetest moan tumbling from your lips. you tried to close your legs around him, but his hands kept them held right open.

“careful, baby. ethan n hadley are right next door, hm?” he hummed into you, and though he was trying to help, the vibrations had your back arching off the bed and your clit pulsing against his tongue.

you whimpered lightly before putting a hand over your mouth, a feeble attempt at keeping yourself quiet.

it barely masked the whines spilling from you at every lap of his tongue, at every hum of appreciation against you. he had been trying to keep quiet, as well. but the taste of you on his lips was driving him wild

mark slowly pulled at one of your legs a little harder, moving his other hand below his chin to prod at your entrance with one finger

he pressed it inside you, moving his mouth away for barely a second to shudder at the feeling of you. how tight you were around just a finger, how warm and wet you were just for him

and when his lashes fluttered up to see you biting the back of your own hand, trying to keep yourself spread for him, he dove right back in.

it was moments before your free leg clamped against his head, the other trying its best to close but his arm too strong against you.

he moaned into your pussy, slipping another finger into your soaked cunt and gasping as your walls fluttered perfectly around them. he pulled his head back once more, eyes half lidded and dazed as he moved to lick up the arousal that had began to drip right down your thigh.

“mark, mark.. mark, s’ so.. fuck it’s so good, please” you whispered, your mantra of his name only giving him more encouragement.

he curled his fingers inside you, feeling dizzy with lust when your whole body locked up and your thighs began to tremble softly.

he curled them once more, grinning against your clit when you bit at your hand again to mask the guttural moan threatening to release from the sweep against your sweet spot

“oh.. right there, huh? s’at feel good?” he mocked, prodding at the same spongy spot inside you repeatedly. the shaking of your legs only intensified, even with his grip stabilizing one as much as he could

“so good, s’ so good, n’ i’m.. fuckfuckfuck m’ so close, gonna cum” you breathed out, heart racing and stomach twisting into a delicious knot.

your eyes fluttered shut and rolled back behind your eyelids, your body doing its best to fight your orgasm until he told you you could let go

“yeah? gonna cum for me, doll? go on, want to see you” he placed one more kiss on your clit before sliding his thumb along it instead, looking up at you with so much wonder as the shaking in your legs peaked.

your back arched off the bed and you covered your mouth with a slap of your hand to stop the quiet screams from coming out, walls fluttering around his fingers and release gushing around him with a squelch

he slowed his fingers, kissing at your clit until your body stopped writhing, then pulling them out and kissing your thigh before slipping his fingers into his mouth

he groaned quietly, your taste so sweet to him he thought he could sit here and clean you up all day

“y’ okay, babydoll?” he cooed, climbing back up towards your face, pushing the damp hair out of your forehead and sliding your underwear back up around your hips

“hm?” he repeated, staring at you like you were something of a goddess

“yeah, m’ okay, i-“ you took a deep breath, turning to climb on top of him and lay your head on his chest “thank you” you purred, scratching at his sides

“of course, did so good f’ me, you’re… fuck you’re so perfect, my angel” he sighed, carding his hands through your hair while you nestled into him

“still not yours.” you shot back, staring up at him.

“mh. all mine. i’ll get there” he whispered, earning a roll of your eyes

what he didn’t get to see what the small smile that you couldn’t wipe from your lips. “you’re still hard” you teased, messing with the hem of his shorts again with a small giggle

“think i’m gonna be hard for the rest of my life cause of you” he murmured, cupping your jaw so you’d look back up at him.

“that’s a bit dramatic, mark.” you breathed out, a little shellshocked at how intensely he was looking into your eyes

“s’ true. so pretty every time i think of you my dick pops up like a fuckin’ jack in the box. and i don’t really stop thinking about you… like ever.” he stated, twisting a piece of your hair around his finger

you gulped, tucking your fingers under his shorts and letting your gaze fall there, anywhere except for his eyes.

“hey.. i’m serious, baby. think you’re scared im not, but you’re all i want” he whispered, pulling at the back of your head by your hair

“i know.. i just. i spent so long thinking one thing and i can still hear that voice in the back of my head telling me this is all gonna end in heartbreak the second i give in-“ you rambled, cut off by mark’s voice

“give in?” he tilted his head

“to.. whatever this is, whatever happens in my stomach when you look at me like that. call me your babydoll” you admitted, giving him a guilty look

“for the record, i knew you liked babydoll.” he grinned

“oh shut up” you slapped his arm, tucking your head into his neck to hide the dust of red on your cheeks

he shook his head, tilting your jaw upwards gently and brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. your eyes fluttered up to his, and you moved both hands to card through his hair, pulling his head closer and brushing your nose against his

he made the last step, pulling your upper lip between his own and smiling against you. you sighed into his mouth, cupping the base of his skull as you kissed back

your hands slid down to his chest, grabbing at his shirt while you sat up slightly, feeling his grip on your hips as he adjusted as well, sat against his headboard with you straddling his lap

“mark” you gasped against him, prying at the collar of his shirt and whining at the barrier between your hands and his skin

he chuckled, pulling his shirt over his head and pecking at your jaw, trailing down to your neck to litter you once more with bruises

your palms smoothed over the muscle of his pecs, eyes fluttering shut while you scratched down his front, dug your fingers into his biceps

then, like your need had grown a mind of its own, you grabbed at his hair and redirected him back to you mouth

he hummed softly, tugging your hips forward to press you closer to him. the friction between your legs had you whining into his mouth, fingers desperately tugging at his hair

his cock throbbed against your inner thigh, and it only made you more delirious

“want you” you mumbled into his mouth, letting your lips part open when his tongue prodded at your lower lip. he groaned in response, tugging at your hips once more and earning a whimper from your lips

“mh. want you inside me” you whispered, digging your nails into the skin of his shoulders and letting your hips continue the pattern he’d started for you

“f-fuck, you’re sure?” he pulled away from you, chest heaving with breathlessness as you pressed your forehead to his, and nodded

“please” you continued, hips moving back and fingers pulling at the string of his shorts.

“oh, babydoll. you have no idea what you do to me, hm?” he cupped your face, kissing you a few times more. your attention never moved from his shorts, and your breath hitched slightly when you pulled him through the gap of them

you pulled back from his lips once more, gazing down between you and whimpering at the sight of him, stood tall and throbbing in your hand, his tip leaking precum

“so pretty” you blinked up at him, immediately looking back down and sliding your thumb over his slit

“fucking christ, you’re-“ he gasped, head nearly lolling back when you used the wetness to glide your hand down his length.

you sat up slightly, and he grabbed your waist gently, letting out a shaky breath as you pulled your panties to the side and slid down on him

and when you were filled to the brim, the stretch of him still burning in your stomach deliciously, your eyes rolled back and fluttered shut

his lips parted in shock, eyes flickering to your face with more love then he’d ever mustered. when he saw how dazed you were, he lost all ability to think normally

his eyes raked down to your stomach, and he nearly choked on his spit with a moan as he saw the imprint of himself bulging through your tummy

you hadn’t moved, nails buried in his arms while you steadied yourself on his cock.

“so, f- mh, so deep” you cried out quietly, stomach turning with need at the lack of friction. all he could do in response was raise his hips gently, pride beaming in his eyes when you tucked yourself into his neck and sobbed in pleasure, biting down on his shoulder.

“s’at feel good, baby?” he hummed, gripping your waist and guiding you up, then down on him. you only bit harder, the sweetest whine slipping through the barrier of his skin

“fuck, you look so perfect like this, full of me” he groaned, dragging you down while his hips jolted upward.

one arm came around your waist to keep picking you up, while the other hand pressed against your stomach gently, a pathetic whine echoing in the crook of his neck

“think you were made for me, hm?” he muttered, grabbing your hair in his fist and forcing you to look at him

he throbbed at the sight of you, eyes blown wide and teary and lips parted breathlessly, a bit swollen from kisses and biting

“tell me,” he pressed, tilting his head slightly and watching as you tried to form your words, barely coming up with sweet murmurs of his name

“tell me you were made for me, babydoll. tell me you’re mine” he whispered, letting go of your hair to keep a tight grip on your jaw, still lifting your body and pressing himself desperately deep inside you

“y- mh. yours. made for you” you gasped, nails digging into his biceps until your knuckles were white so you could try and keep your eyes on his

with one particularly rough thrust of his hips, all your effort went right out the window, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut. his grip moved to the back of your neck, keeping your head up straight

“s’ all it takes, hm? finally got you to admit it, fuck- admit that you’re mine, and all i needed to do was fuck you stupid” he chuckled, massaging the base of your skull gently

“can’t pretend to hate me when you’re stuffed with me, huh baby?” he continued, merely egging himself on

you were so far gone that everything he said was going in one ear and out the other, his skin on yours consuming you so entirely you thought you might pass out

“such a sweet angel when you’re getting what you want, aren’t you?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to your lips and watching as your eyes forced themselves back open

“mark, ngh. fuck, please-“ you gasped, hips squirming above his desperately

“knew you’d be like this, too. perfect little thing, take what you need, like a brat-“ he spat, referencing your quick decision to bury him inside you when you’d decided you wanted him. “- n’ then you just melt right in my lap like a pretty doll f’ me. let me take care of you”

you choked out a moan, trying to tuck your face back into your safe haven in his neck, but his strong grip kept you right where he wanted you.

“needed you” you admitted, pressing your forehead to his

“i know, baby. i know,” he cooed, repeatedly pecking at your lips “always have me, yeah? m’ yours, too” he reassured, dropping you down on him to cradle your head and earning a pleasure-filled sob

he kept fucking up into you, the friction of his pelvis against your clit making you all the more delirious

“mine” you cried out, gripping tighter at his shoulders

“all yours, babydoll. got me littered with you, hm? look” he nodded to the side, a gesture towards the bright pink scratch marks covering his upper arms and chest, along with the bruising bite mark where his neck and shoulder met

“mh- mine” you whimpered again, eyes watery with need as you looked into his eyes, dazed. “s’ so good, m’ so full” you gasped, trying once again to squirm against him

“shh, angel, i know. so close, aren’t you?” he smiled, wrapping both arms around your waist to hold you tight to his chest

“gonna wait f’ me? right behind you, baby” he cooed, earning a desperate nod against his forehead

“there’s my girl” he praised softly, speeding up the pace of his hips while you clung to him, whining over and over again while trying to muffle your noise with his lips

he groaned as he finished, burying his head in your neck to leave kisses while your walls fluttered around him and you gasped at the feeling of him filling you

warm and deep inside you, triggering your own viciously powerful release.

you were both breathless, panting rapidly with you still sat atop him, buried to the hilt. your head fell onto his own, arms throwing themselves around his neck with a contented, over-sensitive sigh

he attempted to lift you, earning a pathetic discontented whine “no,” you begged, feebly attempting to move your legs around his waist

“no? want me to stay inside?” he hummed, your head nodding pleadingly at his words

he smiled and moved up to kiss you on the forehead, your arms still laced around him tightly “anything for my babydoll” he moved one arm to brush your hair out of your face, a few strands sticking to the sweat that had collected on your forehead

“we should get up soon, though. ethan n hadley are probably wondering what the hells going on” he smiled and you groaned, only curling closer into his grasp

“eddy’s never gonna let me hear the end of this” you pouted, and mark giggled

“hads is gonna be happy though, do you know how many double dates we’re gonna have to go on?” he poked at your side, his smile beaming bright

“she’s been trying to wingman us for like six months” you snorted, and mark laughed

“only cause i’ve been pathetically chasing you since the dawn of time,” he smirked, running a hand up and down your back gently

“i know. i wanted to hit you with my car” you teased, glaring up at him playfully

he shook his head with a grin “no, you didn’t.”

you smiled “okay maybe i didn’t.”

he leaned into kiss you, but was interrupted by his bedroom door flying open. he quickly pulled his comforter over your hips and glared at his best friend, who was standing with his arms crossed in the doorframe

“what the fuck, du-“ ethan promptly cut off mark’s dramatics.

“are you two done fucking? hads is hungry and i don’t want to find out what happens if i don’t feed her, like, yesterday.” he gave the two of you a pointed look, and then shut the door

“sounds like we should get cleaned up” mark hummed, running his hands through your hair

“really? to me that sounded like we should fuck louder” you smiled, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him softly

“as.. incredibly tempting as that is-“ he sighed, prying you off his lap and earning a dramatic groan, a soft whine of sensitivity slipping through “- i’m gonna get you some new clothes, hm?”

you huffed, pulling off your panties and slowly standing with him, clung to him while he rifled through his drawers for a new shirt and some boxers, as well as a new pair of sweats. he tucked the clothes under his arm and grabbed your hand, pulling you to his bathroom carefully

he used a warm cloth to clean the insides of your thighs gently, your leg twitching as he wiped through your folds. you winced a little, sensitive from all the stimulation

“sorry” he whispered, kissing your forehead softly. you shook your head, leaning on his shoulder as he pulled you off his counter and helped you get changed, then cleaned himself off

“m’ not used to this” you hummed, carding a hand through his hair with a soft smile. he furrowed his eyebrows, pinching your jaw questioningly

“so gentle with me, holding me n’ kissing me and cleaning me up” you admitted, peering up at him from his shoulder

he tried to mask his smile “what kind of losers have you been sleeping with?” he chuckled rubbing your back soothingly

“nobody worth thinking about” you whispered, kissing him sweetly and pulling him back to his room to get him to change

when you walked out of his door, you were immediately met with a bone crushing hug from hadley

“god, if i’d known all i had to do was get him to go all vigilante on some asshole i’d have gotten shoved into some boards six months ago” hadley joked, giggles erupting from the two of them while mark went over and casually fist bumped ethan

“also, you’re telling me everything later” hads whispered, pulling you over to the boys by the couch

“now. what’s for breakfast?” she sat herself in ethan’s lap, you awkwardly making your way beside mark and curling into his side

he beamed, kissing your forehead with pride pulsing in his chest. you were finally his.

#ugh i love this #sweet mark #other hockeys

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