Spit Kink Jamie Doing Something To Me. Itd Be So Funny To See What His Friends Would Say The First Few

spit kink jamie doing something to me. it’d be so funny to see what his friends would say the first few times you guys did it in front of them

spit saga masterlist

patreon saw it first! (on may 1, 2024)

ashdhdjk i love love love thinking abt this <3 ty for prompting me to actually write abt it (+ spit kink origin details — if you want more of a narrative, lmk!)

cw — alcohol consumption, doing lewd things in public places, sexual experimentation + kink exploration, d/s dynamics + smidge of brat taming, manhandling, having meddling menaces for friends

i feel like the very first time was accidental? or, at least, not premeditated. it just sorta happened, and its not inherently sexual.

like, maybe you both are a lil tipsy and you want a sip but he's being a jerk (affectionate) and trying to keep it away from you, eventually spilling it. all but what's in his mouth still... he taps your thigh and tilts his head back towards the kitchen, silently telling you to get up and he'll make you another one to share and you're like... or not? (bestie girl's really letting those intrusive thoughts win) and he's like oh 🤨 oh 😏

then he just... does it? casually. zero hesitation. no fanfare. jamie doesn't even check for on-lookers or think before he grabs your jaw, leans over, and spits whatever he'd been sipping straight into your mouth. and he definitely laughs at your shocked expression and the not-so-subtle clench of your thighs.

"i think you might've liked that more than you should."

"you're one to talk." — drawing attention to the tent in his pants :)

for some reason, i don't think y'all were necessarily "kinky" before this became a thing. you were comfortable and adventurous and playful, sure, but you never ventured too far off of the beaten path. this kinda unlocked a door for you... and everyone could tell and they constantly make jokes about it. like, "who would've thought jd and his girl, of all people, would swapping spit like birds on the reg" or jokingly patting him on the back because they "didn't think he had it in him" with regards to ~brat-taming~ because it was so out of left field (for them — we all know its the "quiet," normal-looking ones you gotta watch out for). i think they saw him do it from across the room/yard the very first time, but didn't think much of it because it was SO casual and it could be chalked up to drunkenness (but don't think this means they don't tease you both the next morning). then they saw it a second time... and a third... and it just kept happening?? (def get called "sick" and "disgusting" because if twenty-something boys are gonna do one thing, its hypocritically kink shame! and you know it comes from a place of jealousy, duh) but they never seriously protest because #freeshow

i do think there's a bit of shyness the first couple of times (back before you abandoned all sense of decorum). you don't ask for it upfront: you quietly ask for "sips" from his water or whatever he's drinking at the time. but everyone (and i mean everyone) knows what you're actually asking jamie for. or, rather, what you're asking him to do. even if they can't hear you or missed the initial request, your and jamie's eyes say enough (+ jamie keeps adjusting himself, and is bright red. for a little while, you cling to the ruse, bashful as you hide behind an innocent front. that is, when jamie isn't a menace who makes you "use your words" to ask for what you want 😵‍💫

jamie's no better, always tapping your jaw or your cheeks, or parting your lips with his thumb. no words necessary. procedural knowledge. as mindless as brushing your teeth or riding a bicycle. it brings you both immense satisfaction to move like this, to be so effortlessly in-sync. its a different kind of intimacy, like having a secret language, and it just makes everything else (sexual and not) feel better.

when you're in public or around friends, its short and sweet (usually — because there are... exceptions), intended to scratch the itch without causing too much of a scene, and that's about it. but when you're alone? he drags that shit out. makes you work for it, makes you cry for it. he wants you squirming and pouting and begging like a puppy desperate for a treat before he indulges you both. this, too, is done without conscious thought on his part. he acts in the moment, responding and reacting to your behavior, then recalls what he learned the next time an opportunity arises.

the "pleading period" grows as time goes on (as his resolve strengthens and your embarrassment fades). sometimes, its just because. because he can, because you let him. for his own amusement, to test your endurance, as foreplay. and he's not afraid to use your neediness against you whenever you're a brat (which is often — y'all get off on the push-and-pull / verbal sparring).

eventually, you have zero shame. sometimes, you'll ask nicely for it (jamie says this is his favorite, but everyone knows he LOVES when your claws come out). other times, you just walk up to him, open your mouth, and blink at him expectantly. he'll act all put-out and annoyed, sighing and rolling his eyes, but he stops what he's doing to tend to you, his sarcastic "happy now?" dripping with lust. jamie acts like its some big, annoying inconvenience, as if he didn't do it repeatedly of his own volition the night before?? or that he didn't walk into the room, grab your jaw from behind, then go about his business like nothing happened...

once your friends realize this shenanigan is here to stay get used to it, they definitely goad you both. not necessarily because they want to see the actual spit situation, but because its too damn fun to rile you up and pit you against one another. i feel like you n tz get into a lot of mischief in general, so its no surprise he's probably the main culprit when it comes to egging you on / pushing jamie's buttons for shits n giggs :) and i would't put it past anyone to create situations that make you irritable and bratty just to piss off your boyfriend — they think him trying to be a disciplinarian and being all authoritative top tier comedy.

it takes a lot to trigger a jd outburst, and this spit kink is like a cheat code...

i'm never gonna shut up abt this (and neither should u!!)

"For better and for worse" - Luke Hughes x Reader

summary: luke's hit the rookie wall and it all comes crashing down after a tough loss to the Rangers.

a/n: I’m sorry this is sad pookie but I promise he’s happy by the end<3

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You can tell Luke isn't in the best mood before he's even close enough for you to see the patchy stubble lining his jaw. Shoulders slouched, black beanie pulled down low and eyes not leaving the floor, you can tell he's past anger and frustration. Instead, disappointment is now possessing your lovely boy, and you find yourself grateful you're there for him to go home with, there to keep him company so he doesn't have to sit alone with his thoughts and feelings. Sure, Jack would be home, but he always complains about how it isn't the same.

You're aware of how the game played out, the loss to the Rangers had happened in front of your own two eyes too. As with all Devils' losses, you're affected by it too, taking on Luke's feelings as were they your own. Nevertheless, you hadn't been on the ice, hadn't had the puck on your stick and hadn't needed to answer questions about your performance after sixty minutes of hell.

Luke had, though, which is why, when he's within reach of your hands, you waste no time wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. His face finds its usual spot in the crook of your neck. Immediately, a sigh escapes him, the boy finding comfort and reassurance in your touch and the way your fingers thread through his curls.

You stand in a tight embrace for a few minutes, until your arms begin to fall asleep and your calves prickle in warning of an upcoming cramp, and you softly ask him if he's ready to leave. After a sort of confirming nod, you pull away, grab his hand, and gently pull him in the direction of the parking garage where you've parked his car after dropping him off earlier.

Luke tries to reach for the car key in the pocket of your jacket, but you swat his hand away before his long fingers can close around it and redirect him to the passenger seat. He huffs but complies, and soon, you're sitting side by side in silence as you turn on the BMW. You're not sure what to say or if you should even open your mouth at all. So, you let the silence envelop the car like a blanket, not even wanting to turn on the radio before Luke gives you any sort of hint that he's okay with it.

"When I was nine or ten, I hated playing hockey for a while." His words catch you off guard, not prepared for him to be ready to talk so soon and certainly not prepared for those words. "Huh?" Immediately scolding yourself for that reaction, you open your mouth to say more, but he beats you to it.

"My team went through a losing streak. Five or ten games with only one or two wins. Almost every game, one or more of those goals were against me." Luke coughs to hide the way his voice breaks somewhere between goals and me, but you still notice. You notice everything when it comes to your boy. Your heart breaks a little for tiny Luke, even if you don't completely understand why he's bringing it up now. So, you lay a comforting hand on his thigh, rub along the muscle with your thumb and silently encourage him to continue.

"I hated it. I hated going to the rink and getting on the ice. Dad had to force me into the car." He goes silent for a while, the only sound in the car is the hum of the engine and the muffled sounds of the other guys driving off and home. "Why, baby?" You try, tip-toeing in case he wants to backtrack and not spill his thoughts like this.

"The winning didn't seem worth the losses anymore. The guys on the team blamed me. I didn't enjoy playing. I wasn't on the outdoor rink with Quinn and Jack that whole winter." As he talks, you slowly back out of the designated spot for his car, manoeuvring the car around and heading towards the exit.

"Why are you thinking of this, baby?" you can't help but ask, not meaning to sound as distracted as you do, but the parking garage is narrow and you're trying your best to focus both on listening to your boyfriend, who's seemingly going somewhere with his little anecdote, and not scratch his car.

"That's what it feels like right now." His voice is much quieter than before, so low you almost don't hear, but when a tiny sniffle follows, one you can tell he tries to hide, alarm bells instantly go off in your mind. You pull into a random parking spot, still not out of the garage due to your slow driving, and put the car in park. In a split second, your seatbelt is gone, body turning ninety degrees towards the one next to you, and your eyes searching for his in the dim light.

What meets you instead is the back of his head, a few curls peeking out below the bottom of his beanie, whatever would have been visible of his face hidden by his large hand. That's when you realise his shoulders are shaking, his breath coming out ragged. An "Oh, Luke." slips out before you can stop yourself, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers with the hand hiding his face.

At the action, Luke turns towards you again, revealing his red-brimmed eyes, the green of his irises highlighted by it. Your heart breaks for him, the way he's always so hard on himself, how he feels a hundred times deeper than people seem to think. Luke doesn't hold your gaze for long, instead opting to fidget with your fingers, twisting and turning the ring on your middle digit.

"I don't know if I'm in love with the game anymore. Or if I deserve to be here at all." he scoffs out the last part, mainly speaking to your hand. Acting on instinct, you lift yourself a bit, then swing one leg over the centre console, the other following after, so you're on his lap, now face to face with him. Wasting no time, you grab his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you and rendering him unable to look away.

Not that he would have, though, considering looking at you is all he ever wants to do. Long arms come to rest around your back, trying to pull you in for a hug, but you persist, needing to get your point across to him. "First of all: No one is blaming you for anything, pretty boy." You squeeze his head a little extra, trying to almost push the words inside his head. Green eyes glaze over, and you know you've lost him to derogatory thoughts about himself again.

"That's not true. I see what they say on Twitter, and I read and hear hockey news-" Luke can't help but counter-argue, almost as if he voices one of those thoughts without meaning. Once again, holding his head a little tighter and giving it a small shake, you kiss the top of his cheekbone to interrupt him and get him to refocus all at once.

"Let me stop you right there and rephrase: no one who matters blames you. Not your teammates, not your brother, not coach-" "You obviously didn't hear him..." Luke mumbles, making you stop your ramble and change the course of the train of words escaping your mouth.

Sure, you had heard how Lindy Ruff was yelling at his team after the loss. Sure, you had heard his criticism. And yet: "Giving you pointers isn't the same as blaming you for an entire string of losses, Luke. Sure, you have some things you need to work on, and sure, maybe a puck got past you, but hockey is a team sport. The sole responsibility doesn't lie on you, not when you're out there with five other guys."

Your chest is heaving by the time you finish the small monologue, not even registering how Luke's hands have crept up under your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your waist and drawing the usual random shapes he likes to do when he's nervous or needs comfort. "I'm scared they'll send me to Utica," he says then, breaking your heart all over again by how small his voice comes out, how he refuses to look you in the eye, something he usually never shies away from.

"They won't, and should they for some reason decide to, we're going to figure it out- Wait, is this why you couldn't sleep yesterday?" You didn't realise the extent of his doubts in himself before now, and maybe you should have. After all, you have been spending almost every waking, and sleeping, moment together since you confessed your feelings to each other a few weeks back. But those weeks have also consisted of a lot of...not talking, you rationalise, reminding yourself he would have told you if he was ready like he seems to be now.

"You noticed?" you hum yes, letting your hands slide off his face and instead find their way around his neck, once more playing with your favourite curls, ever soft despite his lack of proper care for them. A shudder moves through Luke's body at the contact, subconsciously making him draw you closer as he closes his eyes and whispers; "I'm worried you'll wake up one day and realise I'm not the hockey prodigy that you started dating."

Time stands still, and you find yourself in a state of shock and conflicted feelings come alive, rushing through your body in tact with the fast beating of your heart. Is he implying I'm some sort of gold digger? You can't help but think, the thought slamming into the front of your mind almost immediately before you get a hold of yourself. Luke is upset. Surely he doesn't mean it like that. Your mom always says it's better to assume a misspeaking of words than intended harm, yet you can't stop yourself from asking your boy to explain himself.

"You think I only like you because you're good at hockey?" It comes out more accusingly than you would have liked or meant to, but there's no stopping them now, and you can only pray it doesn't upset him more. Your intent isn't to fight with him, only to set the record straight, should that be his actual perception.

"No, well, not like whatever's going through your pretty head right now," he gives you a pointed look before continuing, "It's just. It's a big part of why you know me and our life together. Would you have even looked twice at me if I was just some random guy you met through a random friend? Would you still be with me if I quit hockey or got sacked and it wasn't a part of me anymore?"

His voice cracks again, a hot tear sliding down his cheek, which he's quick to wipe away, the movement harsh and rushed like he doesn't want you to see it. At this moment, you know he doesn't actually believe whatever he's spilling to you. No, his mind is just running through different self-deprecating scenarios, and his insecurities have started to take over his common sense. Much like when he's going over game plays and scenarios in his head, his mind always analytical and prepared for every situation, Luke is simply trying to prepare himself for what could be a bad play.

You're having none of it, though, desperately needing your smiley boy back, needing the confident Luke who knows how good he is back, but also not trying to dismiss the way he's obviously got himself worked into a spiral of hockey defines me. His entire body is tense, jaw clenched and muscles straining not to let out another sob.

"Luke Hughes, I need you to hear me and promise me you believe me when I tell you that you could be playing in the worst beer league in the world or never have even touched a pair of skates, and I still would feel the exact same." Pausing quickly to collect your thoughts, you take the opportunity to wipe another tear away from the corner of his eye.

"I like you for you, not for the hockey Luke or the famous Hughes Brother. I like Luke who snores. Who leaves his socks everywhere and plays trivial pursuit with my dad. I like just Luke, but that doesn't mean I don't like all of Luke too, the twenty-year-old guy and the NHL player and everything in between included." At the mention of trivial pursuit, his mouth jumps the tiniest bit skyward, your favourite crooked smile threatening to say hello. It's what you need to finish your spiel, briefly touching the left corner of his mouth as if trying to make the smile stick.

"Hockey isn't what defines you. Sure, it's a part of you, but it certainly is not all you are. I like all the other parts too, maybe even more, and I hope you know that."

Luke lets out a deep breath, maybe it's a sigh of relief, or maybe it's because the insecurities have been weighing on his chest, but nevertheless, he seems more relaxed, his tears no longer threatening to spill over and his arms once again go soft around your middle. Turning his head, he presses a quick peck to the palm of your hand resting on his cheek, before he briefly closes his eyes and leans forward, touching his forehead to yours.

"I do, I'm sorry. I just don't want to lose you. I just got you." He explains, trying his best to not make it sound like he just admitted his biggest fear to you.

"You've always had me, Luke, from the moment we locked eyes, and besides, you won't. Not now because of this, not if you get sent to Utica or stop playing hockey altogether. Not now, not ever. I'll always be yours."

All of the cars, except for Carl the Zamboni man's, have left the garage now. They should probably have left and had this conversation at home, but you're sure something about the dim lighting and the quiet of not only the car, but the surroundings as well, made Luke feel like he could spill his guts. That the garage exists as a form of pocket in time where he can be vulnerable.

Granted, you want to yell that he can always be vulnerable with you. No matter what, though, you're just honoured he decided you're worth being vulnerable with and that he trusts you enough to handle him with care.

"I'll always be yours too," Luke echoes and pulls you closer into a full hug now, seemingly not caring about the limited space in the car. You don't either, despite your knee digging into the passenger side door and your head continuously bumping against the roof, because you know he needs this. Needs to hug you so tight it almost hurts, physically feel your forever presence. Hearts beating in sync, chests rising and falling together like one has you melting into the hug, your hands softly running up and down the silky material of his suit covering his back.

"Thank you. You're amazing," he mumbles into your collarbone, pressing a little kiss on the bone to accentuate his point. You squeeze him tighter, words escaping you at his kind ones, before making sure he's done with the hug so you can move back in the driver's seat.

"Can I buy you an 'I'm-sorry-I- word-vomited-all-over-you-apology' ice cream on the way home?" Luke says as he helps you back over the console, a supporting hand on the curve of your ass. Obviously, he's feeling much better.

This also means you can't help but say: "I'm the one driving," with a roll of your eyes as you plop back into the seat, pulling on your seatbelt and referring to the fact that you driving means you pulling into the drive-through and, consequently, you paying.

"So you're buying me an 'I'm-sorry-you-word-vomited-all-over-me' ice cream?" Voice light and teasing, Luke's smile is back in full force as you finally pull out of the garage and onto the road home.

Despite his teasing, you're happy he's feeling better, his smile making your heart speed up and a steady rhythm of I love him, I love him, I love him echoing through your body. The intense feelings for the boy next to you don't scare you, despite neither of you having muttered the three little words to the other yet. Instead, they fill you with calmness, a sense of home and purpose because you know it's true. You love Luke, are in love with him, and nothing has ever felt so right.

"Dweeb," you mumble in response, pushing his shoulder softly and keeping your eyes on the lit-up roads of Newark.

"Pretty," he fires back as he leans over to ruffle your hair.

I love him, I love him, I love him, you think as his hand settles on your thigh.

I love him, I love him, I love him, you think as he leans over you to pay for your ice cream.

I love him, I love him, I love him, you think as he cuddles into your side once you get into his bed.

I love him, I love him, I love him, you think as the last thing before falling asleep, no doubt in your mind the words will be repeating themselves all over again once you wake up.

SWEEP THE DECK | Lazar and Stein

series masterlist

Summary: The New Jersey Devils have a new coach. He has a cute daughter. Luke Hughes is screwed.

Or, in which Luke Hughes walks in on you changing, laying the groundwork for an interesting barbecue night at your parent's Hamptons house.

A/N: Hello my lovelies, I hope you are all well. It's been a while since you've gotten a full-length fic and let me tell you this one was on the drawing boards for a very long time. I started writing it before we knew who the new coach was and just hoped it would be announced before I was ready to publish it hehe. I hope you guys enjoy this very much, and I hope you enjoy it enough for part 2 (and 3, and 4, and-) because I may or may not be planning on making this a little series, depending on how much you guys would like that. Anyway, I enjoyed writing this a lot, from the team dynamics to the meddling teammates and parents and everything in between. If you do find this to be something worth a place in your heart, leave a little feedback? Also do that if you wish you'd never read it in the end, but please be nice, I might be sensitive. Okay, that's all for the word vommitting, enjoy everyone's favorite little simp embarrassing himself in front of his soon-to-be crush and then experience a ray of conflicting emotions<3

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"They'll be here in ten!" "I won't be ready in ten!"

You can almost see the way your mom is no doubt rolling her big brown eyes downstairs, standing with a perfectly manicured hand on the stairwell and shouting up the large open space for you and your brothers.

"No amount of that will make it better," your brother, Alex, deadpans as he walks by, throwing a judgy glance at the fluffy makeup brush in your hand, halfway through sliding it across your cheekbone. "Might as well come downstairs now," he continues his verbal assault, once again reminding you just how ruthless 14-year-olds can be.

"Get lost, yeah?" Throwing him a cursory glance, you kick the door shut with your bare foot, only just reachable from your place at your old-fashioned vanity. The blue Maple Leafs cap that you keep on the hooks behind the door falls from the force, reminding you once more what exactly you're getting ready for:

Meeting your dad's new team.

Truthfully, you knew it was coming the second the Leafs blew their playoff series. You just hadn't expected your dad's new coaching gig to be finalized so soon, nor that it would be in a state so close to your college. The decision to apply to NUY came easy, as you have always held a love for the city. Besides, with your family's beach house in the Hamptons, the very same place you're sitting in your bedroom right now, the city has always been close and you feel comfortable there, confident, even.

Both of those feelings are nowhere near present in this very moment, though, as the dread of meeting the entirety of the New Jersey Devils roster, plus their partners and children, leaves you already wanting to stay hidden and cooped up in your coastal-themed room, the navy blues and whites of your sheets looking much more inviting.

It isn't that you're nervous, per se, or even shy or introverted or whatever it might be, no.

Usually, you like to call yourself an extrovert. Just, an extrovert with a social battery that drains quickly around new people. Especially, around new people you need to give the very best impression. You want the players to like your dad, and as always, that extends to them liking you and the rest of your family. Which is why you've been taking all day to get ready for this team-get-together-barbecue.

And why you're still not ready, despite starting your makeup roughly two hours ago. In your defense, there might have been a few musical performances in between those hours, though.

As you manage the finishing touches of your makeup, car doors slam, and booming voices carry into your room through the open window.

That definitely wasn't ten minutes.

You decide you might as well take your time getting ready anyway, sure half the team isn't even here yet. Besides, your other younger brother, Evan, is still deep into his Fortnite game, judging by the occasional yells and swear words coming from his room across the hall, and no one's come to get him yet.

Finally finished with your hair and makeup, you rise, stop to hang the fallen cap back on its rightful hook, then walk the few steps to your full-length mirror where your two outfit choices are neatly hanging, and examine your options. In the end, you decide on your favorite little white and red sundress, the sweltering August heat putting you off your other option of flowy pants and a top. You also figure the inconspicuous nod to your new team colors won't hurt.

Slipping out of your pink robe, you reach for the dress and let it pool by your feet, deciding to step into it so as to not ruin your newly styled hair.

Just as you begin to bend down, the door to your room swings open with force, the poor Maple Leaf cap once more meeting the floor.

"Oh!" A tall boy stands in your doorway, head full of curls and mouth parted slightly. You're aware of who he is, of course you are. Growing up with your dad being, well, your dad and living in the city of hockey for a good four years, it would be weird if you didn't.

Especially considering Luke Hughes happens to be a well-talked-about player in hockey circles. You never realized he would be this cute up close, though. Okay, maybe that's a lie. Maybe, you know who he is and maybe your insistence on looking your absolute best has a little to do with him being here. Only maybe, though.

He stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock and locked on your half-covered figure. You let out a startled yelp, grabbing the nearest thing—your discarded robe—to cover yourself.

"What the hell?!" you shout, your heart racing.

Luke snaps back into motion, his face flushing red, the color beginning at the base of his neck up to the tip of his ears. If you weren't otherwise preoccupied with preserving your modesty, you might've taken a little more time to appreciate his broad shoulders and lean figure. Or maybe you would let your eyes linger on his flexed arm as he's gripping the door handle, maybe his square jaw and prominent jawline. You might have even wondered how his nose had come about to have a tiny scar on the bridge (a hockey incident?) if his eyes are hazel or green, or if he has female help to care for his curls.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Your mom, I'm assuming she's your mom - the nice lady with the blue pants and red shirt? - said I could use the bathroom up here - the two downstairs are both preoccupied -, and I thought this was it but I must have gotten the doors confused and-"

You lift your hand, effectively stopping his rambles without a word.

"It's fine-"

"I'm so sorry!" Luke backs out hastily and slams the door shut behind him before you can finish your sentence.

For a moment, you stand frozen, towel clutched to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. Well, that's one way to make a first impression, you think wryly. Taking a deep breath, you quickly finish changing, trying to shake off the embarrassment that follows, even though you know it technically wasn't your fault. As you pull the sundress up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, noticing the color on your cheeks matches Luke's.

Fully dressed, you smooth down your sundress and check your reflection one last time. With a final, steadying breath (and a small pep talk to yourself in the mirror) you head downstairs.  Already from the hall, the sounds of laughter and small talk reach your eyes, multiple rooms of the house filled with people.

Your mom spots you quickly as you near the door leading onto the patio, her eyes lighting up with approval (your choice of clothes) and a hint of relief.

"There she is," she announces, relief flooding her face now that she's no longer holding the fort as hostess all by herself. She's standing by the pool, the water sparkling in the August sun and making a quick swim seem more than tempting, surrounded by what must be a few of the players' significant others. As you reach them, your mom makes quick work of the introductions, well-practiced from years of being a coach's wife.  

You easily slip into the conversation, the girls not wasting time including you. A few of them must be around your age, you think, hoping it'll give you a few familiar faces at upcoming games. They tell you about how excited their respective players were to have a new coach, how they hope this might be the turning point for the team, and all the standard things you're sure there might be a secret manuscript for. But they also take you by surprise, inviting you to sit with them at the games and home to whoever's hosting some of their get-togethers when they learn you go to NYU.

Despite their friendliness, you find yourself mindlessly searching the outdoor party, not quite sure exactly what you're looking for.

Eyes bouncing over the small sea (maybe more a lake?) of people, never resting long on one thing, you soon come to realize it's not a what but instead a who that you're searching for, as you spot Luke from across the garden.

He's chatting awkwardly with your dad, who's starting up the grill, and a few of his teammates - who are trying to help your dad - and his face is still a bit red, but he's playing it off nicely. It seems that way, at least, as his hands move animately, his words backing them up. For the first time, you let yourself take him in, silently approving of the white polo shirt he's chosen and how it stretches across his chest.

You know you have to squash the attraction before it can fully manifest, your dad has always been uncompromising on where he stood on you and "doing stuff" (his words) with his younger players.

Well, all of his players, age-appropriate or not.

Yet, when Luke catches you staring and you grin at him, hoping it conveys forgiveness, a shy schoolgirl giggle threatens to leave your lips and you can't help but think maybe.

Yet, when his shoulders visibly relax and you receive a crooked, grateful smile in return that makes your stomach do a flip, you think what if?

And yet, when a wave of confidence seems to wash over you and you send him a wink that has his blush growing back in full force, you decide it might be okay to let a teeny, tiny, insignificant little crush grow. Besides, you're not going to act on it, and either way, your dad doesn't have to know.

A sharp bark of laughter echoes through the garden, refocusing not only your attention on them but your mother's too.

"You should go over there, introduce yourself," she nudges you, a smug smile on her face you can't quite figure out the reasoning behind. Deciding to let it go, you bid your group goodbye for now.

The smell of smoke from the firepit in the middle of the garden and the salty sea breeze mix as you make your way through various clusters of people, reminding you just how much you love summer nights and barbecues like this. It's a beautiful afternoon, the sun still high in the sky and bathing the entire garden in warmth.

Smiling, nodding, and trying to avoid getting run over by tiny little people zooming past, mini sticks in hand, you stay focused on your end destination.

"Dad!" you call out when you're a few feet away. He turns, his face breaking into a wide grin when he sees you. You keep your gaze on him, afraid your face might light aflame, should you lock eyes with Luke again. One thing is the confidence you can muster with half a yard between you. Being this close to him is another one entirely. You quickly figure he's much the same.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says, putting an arm around your shoulders and squeezing for dramatic effect. "This is my daughter, Y/n," he announces to the players surrounding him. His voice is light, proud even, and the chuckle that follows his words tells no story of the hard look in his eyes, a mute warning.

"Nice to meet you," an accented voice finally draws your attention to the players. Kind dark eyes meet yours as he extends his hand. "I'm Nico."

"Nice to meet you too, Cap," you reply, shaking his hand firmly, hoping the nickname doesn't cross a line but rather relaxes the otherwise awkward air.

"Uh, this is Jack, Alex, Dawson, Timo-" he's pointing the guys out for you one by one. You don't tell them you know who they are, a combination of watching the occasional game of theirs and studying their roster this morning.

"-and this is Luke," he claps him on the back, a shit-eating grin on his face, which instinctively has you raising your eyebrow in question. Had Luke told them about how he walked in on you?

You don't get an answer -not that you were planning on asking him about it in front of everyone anyway- because barreling out into the garden comes Alex, dragging Evan behind him.

They're quick to join you, and you introduce them to everyone. Alex immediately starts talking about his favorite players, not one of them being the guys he's standing in front of. They take it in stride, though, and let him ramble about Mitch Marner and Sidney Crosby to their faces.  

Evan, always the more reserved of the two, stands beside you quietly. You know it's a combination of him being uncomfortable around all these new people, but also because his favorite player is Jack, who's only a few feet away from him.

"He's nice, you can talk to him," you murmur to Evan when the conversation flows and no one pays the two of you any mind.

"I'm not cool enough."

"You're cooler than me and I talked to him." You nudge him, hoping he'll take the chance to talk to his favorite player. Not that he won't have one again, but you know he'll be sad when the barbecue is over and he still hasn't told Jack he plays hockey too.

Evan rolls his eyes, and mumbles "Everyone is cooler than you," but smiles slightly nonetheless. Squeezing his shoulder, you return your attention to the conversation, not missing the way Luke's eyes seem to be permanently stuck on you.

A while later, Evan is fully engaged in hockey talk with Jack, who looks just as excited about the subject as your brother does, Alex has somehow roped John Marino into telling him stories from when he played with Sidney Crosby, and you're currently on the sidelines along with Simon Nemec's girlfriend and Jesper Bratt's fiancee, watching the game of the night. Okay, maybe a third watching, one-third talking to the girls and getting to know them better, the last third being your eyes drifting to one specific player every once in a while.

The game of the night is a tournament in cornhole. Fancy, you're awake. And if you were to guess, tipsy cornhole. Either way, the teams are as follows:

Luke, Simon and Alexander Holtz

Nico, Timo and Jonas Siegenthaler

Jesper, Dougie Hamilton and Brendan Smith

Dawson, Curtis and Erik Haula

A little too many players, but somehow they've acquired six stars and stripes colored bean bags and that seems to make it work.

From what you're gathering, they're playing three rounds, the winners of the first two playing against each other in the finale.

So far, they're halfway through game two, chirps and lighthearted insults flying through the air. All the guys are competitive, hockey players after all, and it's shining through in the way they're playing the simple yard game. At one point, after Holtz stretched a little too far mid-throw, they even had to get Ondrej Palat to be the unbiased referee. He ruled in favor of the Swiss team, though. Words of disagreement were spoken. Bean bags were thrown. It was a sight.

The end of game two is nearing, team Jesper versus team Dawson, the teams currently tied. As Haula prepares to throw his last mini bean bag, the deciding one, everyone seems to pause and hold their breath.

He throws, and as if it was nothing, the bean bag lands square in the hole.

Team Dawson erupts in cheers, having moved on to the final round against team Luke.

The two losing teams join you on the sidelines, not wanting to miss the grand finale, and the two winning teams begin to set up for the final game.

You watch, hopefully discreetly, as Luke passes the bean bags around to his teammates, muscles flexing and face shadowed by the Yankees baseball cap he's acquired from somewhere. When he lifts his shirt to wipe his face, a tiny bit of abs showing, you quickly avert your eyes, though.

I should talk to him, you think, wondering how mad your dad would truly be, wondering if Luke would even want to talk back to you. As you ponder, you accidentally space out, retreating into your mind and completely missing the commotion happening in front of you. It's not until Haula's walking away and Dawson and Curtis are frantically searching for a replacement teammate, that you realize what's happening.

Still, then, it's Nico's nudge to your arm that brings you back to reality, a scheming smirk on his face.

"Y/n wants to play!" Nico speaks up, authoritative and captain-like, leaving no room for argument. You snap your head towards him in disbelief, mouth dropping open and eyes narrowing, trying to figure out what he's playing at. He simply shoots you another grin, identical to the one from before.

"Really? That would be awesome!" Dawson catches your eye, looking relieved and so puppy-like you can hardly let him down.

"Oh, uh. Sure?"

You let him drag you to your feet and throw his arm around your shoulder and he leads you the short distance to their board. The grass tickles your bare feet as you follow him and perhaps if that wasn't distracting you, perhaps if the sun didn't shine directly into your eyes, you would've noticed how Luke sends him a not-so-subtle glare.

"Alright," Dawson says, leaning down and a little closer than necessary. You get the strange feeling he's playing the closeness up, but brush it off under the impression that he might just be a little drunker than the rest. "The trick is to aim for the board but don't be afraid to go for the hole if you feel confident. It's all about the arc and the release," he tells you, voice solemn. You burst out laughing.

"I've played cornhole before," you tell him, but keep your voice light so he knows you're joking around. Still, you remove his arm from your shoulder (much to the relief of the tall boy down by the other board) and take your position after Curtis.

"I'm just trying to make sure we win," Dawson tsks and pats you on the head like you're a child. You roll your eyes and shove him back, pleased with the sibling dynamic you've started to develop with him.

"We're playing against Luke, he's got the aim of a toddler. We'll be fine," Curtis can't resist but says and raises his voice a little to make sure his victim hears. You snicker.

"Ha ha, you're so funny," Luke deadpans, but his eyes still flicker to yours, trying to gauge what you think. He visibly relaxes when you smile at him softly, then gets ready to shoot.

Turns out, Luke doesn't have the aim of a toddler.

In fact, he seems to be the best player they've got on his team, much to the annoyance of your teammates. Okay, you're annoyed too. After all, your dad's competitive streak runs in your blood too.

Eventually, it's your team's turn, and your turn to shoot. Holding one bean bag in each hand, you get in position. Trying to squint and see the hole while fighting a war against the sun, you launch the bean bag.

The sun wins the battle, though, and the beanbag lands next to the board with a depressing thump. Curtis is quick to defend your bad shot, yelling something about how your team has a clear disadvantage and it's a rigged game.

Your opponents laugh it off as you get ready to take your second shot. Stopping you just before you can shoot, though, Dawson offers his cap to you. Before you can even attempt to deny his offer, the argument of how he then won't be able to see dying on your tongue as Luke marches the thirty-something feet over to your side and promptly places his Yankees cap on your head. He doesn't say a word and doesn't offer any explanation to his teammates who complain about their loss of advantage as he returns to them. You're sure your face is beet red as you adjust the cap, trying to gauge what his stony face means and simultaneously trying to shake the butterflies in your stomach.

Nevertheless, you're thankful for his sacrifice, now able to see the board. As was it child's play, your next shot lands the bean bag right in the hole. Your teammates cheer as you move to trade places with Dawson.

The Canadian is quick with his two shots, one landing in the hole and the other resting comfortably on the top of the board.

Soon, he's returning to your side as you wait for Luke's team and their turn.

"Nice hat," Dawson whispers as you watch Simon throw his first bean bag.

"Suits you," Curtis joins in as Simon prepares for the second throw.

"I don't want to hear a word," you whisper back, hoping the heat in your face disguises itself as the effects of the sun and that your voice comes out authoritative enough that they'll listen.

"Noted." You love Dawson.

"Hey Luke, can you even see with all those curls falling in your eyes now?" Curtis? Not so much. Oh well, one out of two is good enough.

Smacking his arm lightly, you risk a glance at Luke. Pretending not to hear his older teammate, he tosses the bean bag. It lands just shy of the board.

"I'm sure that's not what he's blinded by!" Timo yells from the sideline, earning a few hearty laughs from the other guys. His own is short-lived, though, as he soon has to put those quick hockey reflexes to use and duck to avoid the bean bag Luke sends his way. Not quite fast enough, the bag hits him square in the chest.

"Oops." Luke shrugs as Nico throws the bag back to him, no one telling him he technically used one of his two shots.

You're getting bored. Honestly, you should've known playing a competitive game with a bunch of competitive man-children would end in an argument sooner or later. Somehow, someone, messed up the score and the final result is proving harder and harder to decide by the second.

"What about a shoot-out?" Dougie's suggestion cuts over the multiple loud voices, all of them stopping at once. "How would that even work?" Holtz questions, but it isn't a total dismissal of the idea. "Best out of five?" "Best out of three?"

"Or up the stakes, fastest to five?" Evan suggests, voice timid. You turn your attention to him, pleased he feels comfortable enough to butt in and acknowledge his idea.

"That's a good one little man," someone calls out, and you realize it's Luke.

Evan is beaming and you're pretty sure you're the definition of heart eyes as you turn to look at him.

A few more proposals get thrown around before you collectively agree on the fastest to five option.

It's arranged so that each team picks one shooter, and they each have three bean bags at the same time, shooting them in quick succession and at the same time, then all over again if no one gets more points than the other.

"Okay, pick your shooter." Nico uses the captain's voice again. He's somehow managed to assume the rule of game official and is now leading the game.

"We'll go with Y/n!" Dawson says before you have a chance to huddle up and agree. You shoot him a look, but come up short of an argument when he and Curtis both say you've been the most reliable shooter of theirs. Not to toot your own horn, but you're still wondering how they managed to make it to the finale. It must be Haula's merit, you think.

"You've got this, champ." Dawson grips your shoulders from behind, imitating a boxer coach, as you turn around to face the other team's chosen shooter. Rolling your eyes, you lift them to find Luke in the same position as you, Holtz behind him the same way Dawson is prepping you.

The Swede is talking lowly to Luke, most likely a pep talk, but then Luke's eyebrows fly into the air and he turns to look at his friend with an incredulous look. Huh. Interesting.

"You guys ready?" Nico asks. You hum. Luke nods.

"Don't go easy on me just because I'm a girl," you holler at Luke. The chirping part of hockey was always the only thing you were good at.

"I'd never," he smirks back.

"Go easy on me because I'm your coach's daughter," you say instead.

His eyes widen in fear. You laugh so he knows you're joking.

"3...2...1...Go!"

You take Luke's momentary surprise as your chance, shooting your first bean bag before he's collected himself. It hits its intended target, but that also seems to snap Luke out of his stupor, and he's quick to fire his first bag too.

You pout as it goes through the hole.

He apologizes.

You can tell it's sincere.

Simon chastises him for doing so.

Drowning out the cheers and hoots from the onlookers, consisting of pretty much the whole party now and most of them seeming to cheer you on, you focus on hitting the hole once more, and quickly.

Luke is just as fast as you, though, and somehow the beanbags manage to collide mid-air, stopping each other's momentum and falling to the ground in the middle of the two boards. A groan escapes you as the both of you scramble to throw the last bean bags. Just as you shoot, your eyes lock with Luke's green ones, and a flicker of something you can't quite place passes through them.

You both shoot.

Your bean bag lands in the hole.

Luke's bag falls a few feet to the left of the board.

"We won! You did it!!!" Dawson grabs your shoulders and shakes you as Curtis excitedly slaps his back and ruffles your covered hair, the cap sliding around, your head smaller than its owner's.

"Wait- what do we win?" Curtis turns to Nico, then to the losing team, who's mid-interrogating Luke on how he missed that shot. Truthfully, you're wondering the same thing.

"Umm, how about they carry your bags the first month of away games?" Nico suggests, Dawson and Curtis nodding along in agreement. You step towards Nico in protest, though.

"Uh, no, how does that get me anything?" You jokingly scowl, throwing a quick look at your teammates.

Curtis gets a contemplative look on his face as he shifts through ideas for a prize in his mind, while Dawson nods along to your words.

"That's true, she did win for us," he says.

"We buy you food?" Simon asks more than suggests and you turn to them, just missing the way Holtz smacks him on the back of the head.

You don't miss the quiet "No, Luke's the only one who'll do that," and the smirk accompanying his teasing. Nor do you miss the way Luke dishes out a smack to Holtz's head.

"Come to the first practice and you get to decide their drills," your dad cuts in. You're unclear on if it's to stop the not-so-subtle thing everyone's got going on about Luke and you, or if he's simply wanting to see his three youngest players suffering. Either way, you like the sound of his proposal.

So, it's decided: Luke, Simon and Holtz will be carrying Dawson and Curtis' luggage and whatnot for the first month of away games, and (after a little bargaining) you'll decide the three boy's drills for the first two practices.

"You're the hot Swede?!" You exclaim, trying to keep your patty in your mouth as you look at Holtz, or Holtzy as you're calling him now, in disbelief. He chuckles and takes a big bite of his own burger, wincing slightly at the charred taste. You love your dad, truly, but a master of the grill he'll never be. You know it, he knows it, your mom knows it, everyone knows it.

Why he insisted on grilling the food tonight and why anyone let him you have no idea.

Having sat down next to Holtzy at one of the tables scattered around the garden, you had quickly fallen into comfortable small talk, with Dawson, Jack and Evan (who haven't left Jack's side all night) joining.

Your conversations mostly consisted of random subjects, hockey taking up a majority of the words. That was until you had mentioned your freshman year roommate, and best friend, Claudia, and Holtzy's eyes had lit up with interest. He had asked if there was any chance you were talking about Claudia Dupont, and when you confirmed it was indeed her, he told you he'd been having an "arrangement" with her since he came to Jersey.

You know she has a semi-regular hookup and that it's been going on for a while, after all, you tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything, because for some reason, she never wanted to tell you the name of this mystery hookup, or anything about him. Besides the fact he's from Sweden, that is. You understand why now. Still, you were going to tease her endlessly about this.

"What can I say, it's the Swedish charm."

You fake gag, but it only eggs him on. Jack mumbles something about it probably just being something she's checking off on her naughty bucket list and the rest of the table collectively lets out an "oooh".

Except for Evan, his ears were covered by Jack before the forward spoke up.

Their chirping continues back and forth, and you decide it's your opportunity to grab another drink. Rising from your chair, you head towards the outdoor fridge, only stopping to have a brief chat with Simon's girlfriend, who you're coming to like more and more as the night goes on.

Promising to bring her back a Dr. Pepper, you leave her for your original destination. Finding her drink quickly, you take a minute to peruse the fridge for anything interesting and you end up trying to decide between a lemonade and coke.

"I'd go with the coke."

You jump at the sound of his scratchy voice, hurrying to turn around and bumping your knee against the fridge door in the process. Pain shoots through your leg and you wince, losing your balance in the process.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Luke grabs ahold of your bicep, the action meant to steady you. Instead, it leaves you more disoriented, his cologne filling your nostrils and has your knees weak. If you were a betting woman, you'd put your money on him wearing Dior Sauvage and while it's cliche and you're trying not to roll your eyes at the predictability of him wearing that scent, you also can't deny that he smells good. Aaaaand you've been quiet for way too long analyzing his cologne and this is getting embarrassing for you the longer you don't say anything.

"You're good, don't worry," you tell him as you regain your hold of yourself and manage to take a step away from him. Not that you don't want to be near him, but you're pretty sure if you keep standing so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you might do something stupid.

Like touching the scar just to the right of his chin.

Stealing a glance at him, you're surprised that you have to crane your neck so much, even while standing a few feet away. He's tall, which you knew, of course, but he's tall and has such a cute smile, and his shoulders are so broad, his eyes are so pretty and his curls are practically beckoning you to touch them. His curls. His curls that you can see, because you're still wearing his cap, you realize.

Luke's lips, which are sporting his crooked smile that you've come to adore in the last few hours, quickly slide south as you reach up to remove the hat from your head.

"Here, you'll want this back-"

"No, no! It looks better on you! I mean, it looks better than the Maple Leafs one does, I'm sure. Not that you don't look good in that, I think you'd look good in anything, but-"

"Luke," you giggle and he stops, the realization that he's been rambling once more in your company settling in. You don't mind, the way he seems to be much more confident when you're further away and surrounded by his teammates intriguing you. Maybe you're more alike than you realized.

Besides, it means, at least you hope it means, that your blooming crush isn't entirely one-sided.

"I'm sorry," he says again, large palm moving to the back of his neck and his eyes not quite wanting to meet yours again, long fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. The motion brings forth flashbacks of when you got a peek at his abs earlier, and it suddenly feels like the temperature rises a few degrees.

Deciding to bail him, and yourself, out, you change the subject.

"You let me win."

It sounds more accusatory than you'd like, but you mean it as more of a statement. You've been replaying the cornhole game over and over in your head, specifically Luke's last toss and it's the only explanation you've come to believe. Luke lets out a strangled cough and you think your change of subject didn't get him as much off the hook as you had planned.

"I wanted you to be impressed with my cornhole skills so I was playing my best. But then you joined the enemy and put me in a tough spot," he mumbles, color flooding his cheeks.

"And you thought the impression would be better if you let me win?"

"Eh, I try to be a gentleman."

"Oh reaaally?"

He shoves your shoulder gently when you teasingly arch a brow at him.

"Did it work?" He asks anyway.

"The impressing or the gentlemanning," he laughs at your made-up word, and the corners of his eyes crinkle sweetly. Maybe you're already more down bad than you realized.

"Both?" There's a vulnerable note to his voice, and in a moment of weakness, you lay your hand on his bicep. He tenses the muscle, leaving you unsure if he's trying to show off or is simply a little uncomfortable.

"I was impressed," you admit, hoping it'll instill a little more confidence in him again and that he'll get the double meaning. He flexes once more. Showing off. You smile. Your hand slides down his arm, briefly touching his hand on its way back to your side. His fingers momentarily stretch out to chase yours, a movement you're sure he doesn't even realize he's doing, and yet.

Yet, you let hope bloom in your chest.

"And the gentlemanning?" Getting bolder, Luke takes a step towards you.

"To be decided." Your head tilts back as he invades your space, not willing to break eye contact, not willing to back down from whatever's changed between you within the last minute.

"Do I have any say in which way the judge sways?" His hand comes to lay beside you, resting on the fridge you're leaning up against. It feels like you've just finished running a marathon, your heart about to beat out of your chest, air leaving your lungs and your voice coming out a little breathy. You're acutely aware of where you are, who you are, who he is, and who may be watching.

"I'll be back in the city beginning of September," you say, answering his question without an answer. His brows briefly furrow, but then a look of realization spreads on his handsome face and your heart does a weird thump thump thump as his smile widens.

Deciding you've put your heart enough on the line, for now, at least, you grab the Dr. Pepper and your own Coke and head back towards the party. You can't resist but glance at him over your shoulder, though.

He's standing frozen, hand still on the fridge, watching you walk away. You smile at him. He winks. You wonder once more about the confidence from afar. It's better than lingering on the giddy feeling in your chest.

As you drop off the Dr. Pepper to Simon's girlfriend and return to your table, Dawson nudges you, letting you know he saw that entire thing.

You shrug him off. "It's nothing," you whisper.

"Sure, and I suck at hockey," he whispers back.

"Weeell..." Your eyes drift to where Luke sits next to Simon, two tables over.

"Rude. You know Luke's-" He starts, a mischievous smile breaking free from its restraints.

"Eat your food." Luke turns his head, curls bouncing a little, and catches you staring. Shit. You return your attention to Dawson.

"Yes, Ma'am." He salutes you, but the grin remains as he digs into his food.

Following his lead, you try to immerse yourself in the conversation around the table. Still, you can't help but occasionally find Luke across the tables. If Dawson notices he says nothing, and for that, you're grateful because your mind is busy running a million scenarios through.

You've just set yourself up for the biggest heartbreak of your life, or maybe, just maybe, your happy ever after.

“Like clockwork” - Luke Hughes x Reader

Summary: I don’t really have one except for unrequited love.

Warnings: this is angst and garnered the reaction “that’s actually really sad” by my beta reader so beware. It’s short though, so you won’t be suffering for too long!

—————————

You knew he didn’t love you back. You knew he’d never blush with a simple touch of your hands. Dream about your wedding or name your future children in his head. You knew he would never think about you first thing in the morning; you knew his words of adoration would only fall from his pink lips when you were tangled in the sheets.

You knew, and yet every summer, as the leaves turned green, and the flowers bloomed, you’d let yourself pretend, if only for the few weeks you stayed with him. Coming to the lake house was like clockwork, the same every summer, with the same outings on the boat, the same failure trying to learn how to wake surf, the same bonfire nights, barbecues, and fireworks on the Fourth of July. 

But it was also the same way you’d dance around each other for the first week. Pretending not to be affected by his stares, pretend not to notice how his eyes would linger on your bikini-clad body, always stopping shy of your face. Pretending you wouldn’t end up in his bed on the sixth night, with large hands roaming your body and kisses swallowing your moans. 

And you'd pretend you didn’t care. Pretend that every time he kissed you, you wished it was with a different intent. Wished he’d finally break down, come clean and say he’d kept his feelings hidden; finally tell you that you were all he wanted and forever too. 

Those wishes never came true, though. And instead of spilling your own love declarations, you’d bite them back. Let him hold you through the night, only to pretend he hadn’t kissed every part of your skin in the light of day. You’d watch him joke around with his brothers and his friends, too, about girls and the freedom of being young and single. He never cared if you were close enough to hear; he knew you’d still wind up beneath him at the end of the day. 

And you let him. Let him treat you like you were invisible, because if this was the only way you could have him, you’d take it. Even if it meant you were the one to break your own heart in the process. He was far too kind to do it, or maybe he liked having you on his string. Liked the security and predictability of a girl in the summer—that he didn’t have to work for it because you’d be there.

You would always be there. 

Even when he went back to Jersey when the weather turned cold. Even when he started dating a New York model. Even when he blocked you and removed you from his social media just to come back when it didn't work out with her.

And you let him. Because loving Luke Hughes isn’t something you just quit. He’s an addiction that lasts a lifetime, albeit a short one. Because, in the end, it’ll kill you. 

can i please request a summer blurb with lukey with a girl who overheats in the summer sun <3

"put this over your head" luke gives you no time to react before his shirt smacks you square in the face, the light blue fabric unceremoniously dumping down in your lap. you roll your eyes at your boyfriend's protectiveness and chuck the shirt back at him. I'm fine," you say, earning a mocking huff from luke. out the corner of your eye, you can tell jack and quinn are watching on in amusement, quinn alternating between steering the boat and watching luke and yourself.

"you look like you're about two seconds away from passing out" luke tsks, voice more stern this time, yet still laced with a hint of his usual concern for you.

"so adding another layer of fabric will surely help." you're not really sure why you're fighting him about this; truth be told, the heat is getting to you and had it not been for luke being so excited about his first boat day with his brothers since returning from worlds, you would've asked them to head back towards the dock hours ago. maybe you just don't want him to be too worried.

"it will shield your head from the sun and stop you from overheating completely," luke grumbles, attention half drifting to quinn as he pulls up to your usual bathing spot on the lake.

the boat wobbles slightly as it comes to a halt, and you decide now is the perfect time to move from your spot in the sun, into the shade. you never make it that far though, a bout of dizziness hitting you immediately as you stand up, the after-effects of the sun banging down on your head the whole day, no doubt. you stumble a few feet before two strong arms wrap around your lower waist, steadying you and pulling you down at the same time.

"i had it under control," you mumble, but nevertheless get comfortable in luke's lap. his chest vibrates against your back and you know it's because he's trying to keep his laugh in.

"uh-huh." twisting around in his lap, you find yourself mere inches from his pretty face. luke puckers his lips, obviously expecting a kiss, but instead, you decide to go the childish route and stick your tongue out at him. ever so softly, luke reaches up to push your face away from him, but his amused smile is quickly replaced by another wave of concern that washes over his features. "you're really hot baby." luke frowns, and while you know it's true and that you for sure should've found shade much earlier, you can't help but tease him, hoping it'll wash away some of his concern.

"why thank you, you're pretty hot yourself," you smirk and giggle slightly when he shakes his head and squeezes your waist chastingly. "maybe we both need to cool off, then," luke says, taking you by surprise and rising to his feet with you in his arms. a shriek leaves you as he starts moving, your hands gripping his bicep and neck for dear life, already knowing where he's going with this.

"luke, no. no no no, please-"

"what baby, you said you were hot. luckily for you, the lake is still nice and cold." luke steps closer to the edge, and before you can plead and beg a little more, he jumps in. the cold lake water wraps around you, immediately bringing all your senses to life, shocking your warm body and cooling you down at once. luke never lets go of you, not even when you trash, on instinct, around in the water and accidentally kick him in the nether regions.

instead, he brings the two of you back to the surface, repositioning you so your legs are around his waist and your arms around his neck. "helped?" he whispers as your forehead lands against his. after all, you appreciate his concern, knowing he's only looking out for you, and that despite your teasing, you did need to cool down. you nod and take the opportunity to cling a little tighter to him. "yeah, but you're sooo sleeping on the couch," you say, willing faux sternness into your voice, despite having a hard time stopping your lips from quirking upwards. both of you know that you're joking, but luke still gasps dramatically and momentarily forgets to thread water, leaving you dunking a little further into the lake before he regains the leverage. "but then i can't sleep," he pouts, hands sliding up your thighs. one stops there and grips the flesh, while the other slides further up and comes to rest on your hip. a shudder goes through you, this time not from the cold of the water, though.

"should've thought of that sooner," you shrug and lean your head down the tiniest bit, ready to meet his lips.

"hm. i'm sure i kind find a way to get back in your good graces," luke mumbles against your lips, finally closing the remaining gap between you.