★ A/N - 3 times you can't keep your hands off luke type beat. i'm still jet lagged even tho i've been back in toronto for a week now HELP ME PLEASE. yall know the drill; IF THIS IS SHIT DONT TELL ME I'LL CRY I CAN'T HANDLE CRITICISM (this is a joke)
☾ warnings - I DID NOT PROOFREAD A THING. this has sat in my drafts for about a week now and i warned yall I AM LAZY. anywho, touchy reader, lots of smooching, nothing explicit, baby fever, yeah yeah yeah yeah!
✽ word count - 2372 words
It starts as something small.
Your hand lingering too long at his waist. Fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie when he walks past, like you need something to hold you in place. The way your body instinctively leans toward his, even in rooms full of people, even when you know there are eyes on you.
Luke notices before anyone else does.
Of course he does.
He always does.
It’s in the way his mouth twitches when you slide your hand into his back pocket without thinking or how his breath catches just slightly when you press your face into his neck like you’re trying to disappear there. He doesn’t pull away, if anything, he leans into it subtly and quietly, like he’s just as hooked on the closeness as you are.
But there’s a difference between wanting him and whatever this is.
Because this isn’t just affection. It isn’t just habit.
It’s a kind of need that sneaks up on you at the worst possible times. A pull in your chest, low and insistent, that makes it hard to focus on anything except him—his hands, his voice, the way he looks at you like he already knows what you’re about to do.
And maybe that’s why you keep getting caught.
Because no matter how many times you tell yourself to rein it in, to act normal, to remember that there are other people around…
You always seem to forget.
And Luke never really stops you.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The game is loud and fast.
You watch from the stands, heart caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat. When the Devils pull ahead and the final buzzer sounds, the arena erupts—but all you can focus on is him.
Your Luke.
He looks for you before he’s even off the ice.
It’s quick, just a flick of his gaze toward the glass, but it lands, and something hot and restless blooms in your chest.
By the time he’s out of the locker room, you’re already waiting.
You try to play it cool at first. You really do. You stand there, arms crossed loosely, acting like you haven’t been thinking about how broad and solid he looks in his gear, how easy it is to pick him out of a crowd, or how your eyes keep finding him without even trying.
But the second he walks toward you, hair still damp, jaw a little flushed from the cold.
You fold.
It’s immediate.
All that pretending, all that effort to act normal, gone in a second.
Your arms uncross before you even realize it, your body is already moving toward him like it’s instinct, like it doesn’t need your permission. He barely has time to say your name before your hands are on him.
"Hey," he starts, a smile already breaking through, like he knows.
“Hi,” you breathe, but it comes out softer than you meant it to, threaded with something a little too honest.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, hands coming up to steady your waist, thumbs pressing in just enough to ground you.
“Miss me?” he teases, but his voice is low and warm, he’s already leaning into you and giving in.
You nod too quickly.
“Yeah.”
It’s not even embarrassing anymore how fast you admit it.
By the time you make it out to the parking lot, the cold air hits your skin. Everything feels more heightened, more real, and too exposed.
Your grip tightens as you walk, your arm sliding around his middle, fingers pressing into him like you’re trying to make sure he’s still there. He glances down at you, a little amused, a little curious.
“You okay?” he asks.
“No,” you admit quickly.
That gets his attention.
“Not okay how, baby?”
You don’t answer with words.
Instead, you tug him toward the car, a little harder than necessary, your back hitting the side of it with a soft thud as he follows. His brows lift, surprised, but he doesn’t resist you.
“Hey,” he starts, but you cut him off, your hands sliding up his jacket, gripping, pulling him down to you.
And then you’re kissing him.
It’s not soft. It’s not subtle.
It’s the kind of kiss that steals the air right out of your lungs, all urgency and heat and desperate. His reaction is immediate, one of his hands bracing against the car beside your head, the other finding your hip, pressing you closer.
“Okay,” he breathes against your mouth, like he’s trying to catch up.
But he’s kissing you back just as hard, the two of you don’t even think about where you are… not until later.
Until you’re curled up beside him that night after your shower together, your head resting against his shoulder, his phone in his hand.
“Uh,” he says.
You glance up, admiring the dark, wet curls forming around his face. “What?”
He turns the screen slightly toward you.
An Instagram post.
And there, grainy, slightly blurred, but unmistakable, are the two of you.
You, pressed against the car, hands tangled in his jacket. Him, leaning into you, one hand on your waist, the other braced beside your head, kissing you like nothing else exists.
Your stomach drops.
“Oh my God.”
Luke just stares at it for a second, then he huffs out a quiet laugh.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s… pretty bad.”
You groan, covering your face. “Quinn’s gonna give us so much shit.”
He shrugs, tossing his phone somewhere on the couch, his arm sliding around you again like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Worth it,” he says simply.
You peek at him through your fingers. “Yeah?”
His gaze flicks down to your mouth, then back up.
“Yeah.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Summer at the lake house is supposed to be easy.
Slow mornings. Long afternoons. The hum of boats in the distance and the constant movement of people in and out of the house. Jack, Quinn, their parents, and friends dropping by like it’s second nature.
It’s comfortable.
Familiar.
But it’s awful.
You haven’t seen Luke all day.
He left early that morning to go golfing with his brothers and his dad, pressing you a quick kiss on your head before he went, promising he wouldn’t be gone too long.
That was hours ago.
And now you’re sitting inside, half-listening to a conversation you’re not really part of, your knee bouncing slightly, your attention drifting every time you hear a car outside.
You don’t even realize you’ve stood up until someone asks where you’re going.
“Water,” you say quickly, already moving.
But you don’t make it to the kitchen.
Because the front door opens.
And there he is.
Sun-warmed, slightly flushed, curls a mess from the day, laughing at something Jack says as they step inside.
Your chest tightens.
There it is again.
That pull.
That need.
You don’t think.
You just move.
"Hey, baby—” Luke starts, but you’re already there, your hands on him, tugging him away from the entryway before anyone can really process what’s happening.
“Hi,” you say, breathless, like you’ve been waiting all day just for this moment.
He blinks at you, caught off guard, but then he smiles.
“Hi,” he echoes.
You don’t stop.
You pull him down the hallway, past the kitchen, past the living room, until you find a quieter corner where the noise fades just enough.
And then you’re kissing him again.
“Miss me?” he murmurs against your lips, clearly amused.
You nod, your hands sliding up his chest and around, gripping the hair on the nape of his neck like you need to make up for lost time.
“Yeah,” you say. “A lot.”
He exhales, his forehead resting briefly against yours. “We were gone for like… six hours.”
“Too long.”
That makes him chuckle.
But his hands tighten on your waist anyway, lips pressing back into you with hunger, slower this time.
You don’t hear anything around you anymore until-
"EUGHHHH, are you serious?!” Jack’s voice breaks through the quiet.
You jerk back instantly, your hands dropping like you’ve been burned.
He’s halfway down the hall, one hand over his eyes, the other thrown up in the air in pure disbelief.
“Come on,” he groans. “Like—right here? In the hallway? This is a shared space!”
Your face heats up immediately, embarrassment crashing in all at once as reality snaps back into place.
“Oh my God.”
Luke just exhales, dragging a hand down his face, somewhere between annoyed and amused.
“Get a room, you freaks," Jack shouts back, already turning away.
He disappears toward the bathroom, still muttering under his breath.
Silence settles for half a second.
Then a small but growing chuckle bubbles out of Luke.
“Well,” he says, “at least it wasn’t my mom.”
You groan again, swatting his arm.
“This is your fault.”
“My fault?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “You pounced on me the second I walked through the door.”
You nod, but you’re smiling.
Then he glances down the hallway, toward the noise of the house, before looking back at you.
“C’mon,” he murmurs before pressing one more gentle kiss to your lips.
His hand tightens around yours. When he starts walking, you follow without question.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The third time sneaks up on you.
Because it doesn’t start with him.
It starts with her.
Grits’ daughter.
She’s small, all soft curls and bright eyes, tucked comfortably in Luke’s arms like she belongs there. He’s talking to her in that low, gentle voice you don’t hear often, there’s something warm and careful in the way he holds her, like he’s afraid of doing it wrong somehow.
But he’s not.
He looks like a natural.
Your chest tightens as something deep within you shifts.
You don’t expect it. You don’t prepare for it. It just hits you all at once, a quiet, overwhelming thought that settles somewhere deep and refuses to leave.
You want that.
It’s ridiculous.
You know it is.
You’re only 21, he’s 22. Your lives are barely settled, constantly moving, and still growing into yourselves.
But watching him like this, it doesn’t feel out of reach.
Luke glances up, catching you staring.
“What?” he asks, smiling slightly, still rocking Yesenia gently back and forth.
You shake your head quickly. “Nothing.”
But it’s not nothing because from that moment on, something in you shifts.
The rest of the evening you stay closer to him than usual, your hand always finding his sleeve, his wrist, his hand, or the back of his shirt. You lean into him more, rest your head on his shoulder, press your face into his neck practically huffing him.
And he notices.
“You okay?” he asks quietly at one point, his hand settling over yours.
You nod.
Too quickly.
“Yeah…” You hesitate, searching for wording that makes sense and doesn’t sound outright bizarre. “I just want to be near you.”
His expression softens.
“You are near me,” he says playfully, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, tucking you in closer to his chest.
It’s almost unbearable, your need to be alone with him, to have his full attention.
You shift closer, fingers curling into his shirt, tugging lightly.
“Lu,” you murmur.
He turns immediately to you. “Yeah?”
You hesitate. “Can we go?”
His brows knit slightly. “Go where?”
You glance around, lowering your voice.
“Anywhere. Just somewhere else.”
He studies you for a minute, green eyes boring into yours, before something clicks.
“Oh,” he says quietly.
You nod, your grip tightening just slightly.
“Please.”
There’s no teasing this time, no joking. He just understands, a kiss being pressed on your temple before he stands, offering a quick excuse to the group—something about being tired, about an early morning tomorrow. It’s smooth and believable enough despite the clumpsy delivery.
But the second you’re out of sight, your hand is back on him, pulling at him.
“Hey,” he says softly, stopping just long enough to catch your face in his hands. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”
You shake your head, already leaning into his touch.
“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. “God, Luke.”
His thumbs brush over your cheeks slowly, eyes fixed on yours, adoration and all his attention laid thick on you.
“You’ve been all over me since dinner,” he says, his crooked grin cracking, voice lower than before. “Not complaining.”
Heat rushes to your face, but it only makes you press closer.
“I can’t help it.”
“No?” His brows rise in pure amusement.
You shake your head again, fingers bunching tighter in his shirt. “You holding her earlier really got in my head.”
Something flashes instantly across his face.
“Grits’ daughter?”
“Yeah.”
Luke exhales a quiet laugh, but it catches slightly when you step closer again, nearly flush against him now. “Baby fever?”
You groan, hiding your face briefly against his chest. “Shut up.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yes.”
His laugh is warmer this time, quieter too, and you feel it under your cheek. Then his hands slide down your sides slowly before settling firmly on your hips.
“Look at me,” he says softly.
You barely have time to look up from his chest before he’s kissing you, all heat and want. The sound you make is embarrassing, but Luke just hums against your lips. Your hands fly into his hair automatically, tugging hard enough to make him inhale sharply.
“Jesus,” he mutters against your mouth.
"Sorry."
“Don’t,” he cuts in instantly, kissing you again before you can finish the apology. “Don’t apologize for that.”
You melt a little at the roughness in his voice.
Luke backs you up slowly until your shoulders brush the wall, his hands spreading across your waist like he needs to hold onto as much of you as possible.
“You were killing me out there,” he murmurs between kisses.
You blink up at him, dazed. “Me?”
"Mhm," he hums.
One of his hands slides up into your hair, gently tipping your head back so he can kiss you deeper, slower, until your knees feel weak from it. You clutch harder at his shirt instinctively, causing him to groan softly at the feeling before pulling away.
“Looking to see you constantly eyeing me down like prey does a number on me.”
He kisses you again anyway before grabbing at your hand, guiding you towards his car. “C’mon,” he says softly, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Before I stop being patient.”
thank u for reading!! feel free to chat in my inbox!! i am always down to be a freak or talk whenever! ✭
