summary: texting au where the reader is an olympic figure skater in milan, alongside her brothers quinn & jack (TEXTS IN ORDER: GC WITH HUGHES BROTHERS, GC WITH HUGHES BROTHERS + PARENTS (2), MACKLIN CELEBRINI, WILL SMITH, CONNOR BEDARD)
warnings!! cursing, mentions of violence
a/n: hi guys!! hope u like these olympic text blurbs :) this is also the first set of blurbs that includes ellen & jim!! hope u enjoy <3 -mars
✰ pairings: connor bedard x!hughesreader, will smith x!hughesreader, macklin celebrini x!hughesreader 𐔌also in this fic: quinn hughes, jack hughes, luke hughes, trevor zegras, cole caufield, ethan edwards, mark estapa, rutger mcgroarty, nico hischier, dawson mercer, & dixie d'amelio꒱
✰ summary: !love triangle! !hughes sister! this fic takes reader through the entire night of the annual "end-of-summer" party at the hughes lake house, with sudden surprises and turns
✰ warnings!! drinking, cursing, violence
✰ a/n: hey guys, it's been so long since I've written a lengthy fic, so I hope u enjoy, and lmk ur thoughts! happy reading <3
divider creds: @pixopix
wc: 11.8k
9:30 AM
Connor woke up abruptly, due to the fact that he did not recognize the bed he was in. His legs barely fit on the twin-sized mattress, a sharp contrast to his king-sized bed at home. The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was the light pink comforter, and the teddy bear he was gripping so tightly onto. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the sunlight from the window as he ran a hand through his messy hair. He lifted the blankets, muttering “what the fuck” when he saw a pair of plaid pajama pants that did not belong to him. The realization hit him all at once when he glanced to his right—seeing you curled up in your queen-sized bed, mouth parted just slightly. It all hit him like a punch to the face. He was supposed to leave at 6 a.m, and his watch read 9:30.
“Fuck.” He whispered as to not wake you, running a hand over his face. He decided he’d just stay in the small bed, and pretend to be asleep until you woke up. He rolled back over, but anxiety ran through his chest when he realized he had a full bladder. He groaned quietly, stepping out of the bed with an eye roll. He turned the bathroom doorknob very slowly, but what he didn’t know, was that the bathroom was connected to both you, and Luke’s rooms. His head hung slightly as he made his way past the double sinks, and to the second door that housed the toilet and shower. His head quickly shot up, and his eyes widened when that door opened.
Luke exited with tired eyes, just barely awake. “Hey man,” He said, voice groggy, eyes half-closed.
“Sup” Connor replied, frozen with those wide eyes. He almost let out a sigh of relief as Luke began stepping through the door to his bedroom– but then he stopped, placing a hand on the doorframe.
Luke turned his head slowly, wearing a smirk with a hint of confusion. “Wait- Bedard?” Connor was frozen, words stammering with a wide mouth. “What’re you doing in my bathroom?” Luke’s smirk turned into a slight smile, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
Connor rubbed his neck nervously. “I was just– I wanted to go home, but she offered me a place to stay-”
“Are those my pants?” Luke interrupted, pointing at his legs.
“I uh…had no idea.” Connor said with an awkward smile, and Luke nodded his head in actual belief.
“Chill out man,” Luke mumbled, eyelids falling slightly. “I’m cool with you banging my sister.”
Connor’s brows shot to the sky, and his face turned bright red. “What– No, no-”
Luke stepped forward, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “I’m on your team.” He sent a drowsy smile, and Connor squinted his eyes in confusion. The two of them stood there in silence for a moment– Luke’s hand still on Connor’s shoulder, eyes falling shut. He would’ve fallen asleep if it weren’t for Jack’s raspy voice cutting through the silence.
“Yo, you got toothpaste?” Jack asked, toothbrush in his mouth as he stood in Luke’s room by the bathroom door. Luke smiled, eyes still closed as he nodded slowly.
“Cool, thanks.” Jack crouched under Luke’s arm into the bathroom. “Whattup, Bedsy.” He said as he passed Connor, not caring to ask any questions. He knew you well, and this was too predictable of a situation for him to care about.
Luke yawned, opening his eyes as his grip tightened on Connor’s shoulder. “Listen, I like you man.” Jack turned his neck slightly, brows furrowed. “The ‘twins of San Jose’ are coming today, and I need you to grab em’ by the fins, and-”
“No.” Jack said, mouth full of toothpaste as he turned around, pointing at Luke with his toothbrush. “No meddling.”
Luke groaned, rolling his eyes before looking at Connor again. “Point is, I don’t like them. Not one bit.” Luke brought his face in closer, causing a mix of panic and confusion to run through Connor’s brain. “Just…know your place.”
“My place?”
“Your place is here, my friend.” Luke said, a stern look on his face. “Don’t let anyone try to take your place.” Connor nodded slowly, pretending to understand. “She is the puck,” Luke pointed into your room with his free hand. “You gonna allow the other team to take it from you when you’re in scoring position?”
“No?”
“That’s right.” Luke gave his shoulder a pat before finally taking his hand off. “You’re the star of the game, man.” Jack spit his toothpaste out, heading towards the door. Luke began to follow, but turned at the last second. “Oh yeah, and don’t wake her up.”
“Yeah, don’t ever wake her up before she does it herself.” Jack interjected, turning in the doorway.
Their words overlapped each other– Luke with wide eyes, and Jack pointing his toothbrush at Connor.
“Very bad idea. You won’t make it out the house alive.” “She will rip you to shreds, and I’m being serious, you will get hit.”
Connor blinked. “Noted.” And with that, they disappeared. The bathroom fell quiet again, leaving Connor alone in the wake of whatever the hell just happened. After using the bathroom, he creaked open the door and tiptoed back into your room. The contrast between the cold bathroom tiles and the soft pinks of your space felt like stepping between dimensions. He hesitated in the doorway, glancing back to make sure no more brothers would materialize from thin air. You were still asleep– arm curled under your cheek, the covers pulled up just to your shoulder, face relaxed in that dangerous way that only added weight to Luke and Jack’s warnings. He though about last night, and how stupid he was for not waking up to his alarm this morning. Of course– it was his problem, not yours. You wanted him to stay, and you made that clear the night before.
Connor remembered his hands shaking when he texted you about visiting friends in Michigan, and how his heart dropped when he asked to hang out with you while he was in town. Then, his visit was canceled. His friend had to fly out to see family last minute. Connor still drove all the way up from Chicago just to get dinner with you for one night. There was no way he’d miss out on the opportunity to finally hang out with you in person when he’d been anticipating it the whole week. He never lied, he just never brought up his trip– that is, until you asked. You found out at the end of the night, refused to let him drive home, and insisted he’d stay at your house for the night. Connor tried to argue, but it was clear you weren’t going to give up. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend more time with you, it was the fear of running into your brothers. The brothers he played against every season, the brothers he looked up to, and honestly, the brothers he was terrified would kick his ass if they caught him staying in their little sister’s bedroom. He regretted getting out of the car with you, putting on the pajama pants you threw to him, climbing into your guest bed, and most notably– getting up to pee in the morning. He regretted a lot of last night. But he didn’t regret watching The Office on the floor next to you, admiring the way you looked making his twin bed, laughing with you after finally turning the lights off, or listening to you whisper “goodnight” before rolling over. His plan was to leave at 6am, which he told you about. You retaliated, begging him to attend the annual party your brothers were throwing at the house the next night—but he made it clear he’d leave early. Now, he had no choice but to stay for the party. The last thing he’d want is for your brothers, or any other NHL players the house would be filled with later that night, to think he was the lame guy who snuck out of your room in the morning.
Connor sat on the edge of the twin bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the worn carpet like it might give him an exit plan. His phone was somewhere under the blanket, dead. He rubbed his hands together and glanced over at you again. He knew the second you opened your eyes, it’d be game time. His gaze drifted to your dresser– cluttered with hair ties, half-used perfume bottles, a Polaroid of you and your brothers at what looked like a summer lake trip. Luke and Jack on each side of you, both soaked and shirtless, middle fingers up to the camera, Quinn in the lake, pointing a thumbs up from the water, while you smiled like you weren’t surrounded by chaos. He looked away, the house suddenly felt louder. He heard laughs coming from up the stairs, most likely Jack. He whipped his head around and made direct eye contact with you. You were awake. Eyes open, quiet, watching him. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Slowly, you stretched like a cat, arms overhead, blinking in the morning light.
“Still here?” you asked, voice laced with amusement.
Connor nodded once. “Yeah, um- I didn’t mean to stay- well I meant to stay, but I didn’t mean to…like, miss my alarm, or-”
“Relax,” you murmured, sitting up and pushing the blanket off your shoulders. “I’m glad you stayed.” He didn’t know what to say to that, but the soft grin that followed hit harder than all three of your brothers combined.
Then, knocks. Three gentle, rhythmic knocks on your bedroom door. Connor tensed like he was about to be drafted into war.
You reached lazily for your phone, unlocked it, and squinted at a notification. “It’s fine, he won’t come in.” you muttered. “Yeah?” You asked, raising your voice slightly.
“Uh, I’m making breakfast. It’s almost ready,” The muffled voice behind the door was much softer, much more respectful than Jack or Luke. “I heard you have a uh…friend up here,” He cleared his throat. “He’s welcome to join us if he wants to stay.”
You glanced at Connor, eyebrows raised. He shrugged his shoulders, nodding his head just once. “Okay! Thanks, Quinn! We’ll be down in a sec!” You yelled, eyes never leaving your phone screen. The footsteps padded away down the hall, light and measured. Connor exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Quinn knew.
You looked up from your phone, expression unreadable. “He’s the only one who knocks, you know that?”
Connor nodded slowly. “Yeah…I got that vibe.”
You tossed your phone to the side, stretching your legs beneath the blanket. “Is that how you pictured meeting your idol, you know, the King of Vancouver?” You yawned. “Wait…actually, you’ve met before, right?”
“Yes, we’ve met. I’ve met all three of your brothers, technically on the ice.” Connor rubbed a hand down his face. “Which is…worse. That’s so much worse.”
You laughed quietly, dragging the blanket off your legs and swinging your feet to the floor. “Yeah,” you said, voice still coated in morning softness, “You’ve definitely slashed all three of them at some point.”
Connor groaned, falling back onto the twin bed with a hand over his face. “Oh my god. If you told me at age 13 that this is how I’d meet the Quinn Hughes for the first time, I- I-...I don’t even know. Oh my god.”
“Glaze much?” you smirked.
“As someone from Vancouver, your brother was a savior.” He said, words muffled into his hand. You stood up and walked across the room, hair wild from sleep, the oversized hoodie you threw on falling off one shoulder. Connor sat up slowly, watching you move like you were the only calm person in the world.
“If you’ve watched Quinn for years, you know he’s not mean or scary. None of them are, really.” you said, brushing your hair out of your face and tossing him a pair of socks from your drawer.
Connor caught the socks mid-air, pulling them on. “I at least know Luke’s not.” He muttered.
You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?”
“I- uh…” he started, suddenly far too focused on the socks he was pulling up like they held the answer to getting out of this conversation. “I ran into him in your bathroom this morning.”
You crossed your arms, standing in front of your dresser now, tilting your head. “What?”
Connor hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek, trying to phrase it right, trying not to sound like he was ratting out your brother. “Yeah, he was coming out when I was going in. Stopped for a chat.”
“A chat?” You raised a brow.
“Y-Yeah-”
“About what?”
Connor looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “I- uh…I don’t really know? It was weird.”
“Weird how?” You moved closer to him.
“Like- Like the words coming out of his mouth were contextual, I just didn’t have the context…I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders high, looking at back at you like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. “Safe to say, I’m like 99.9% sure he likes me…maybe too much.”
“Too much?” you repeated.
Connor nodded, still holding that shrug like a shield. “Yeah, like...full 'ride-or-die teammate speech’ level.”
You narrowed your eyes. “He gave you a speech?”
Connor dropped his arms to his sides, trying to save Luke just a bit. “Oh, no, no- not a speech. He just compared you to a puck.” You stared at him. “A puck, as in, you’re ‘the puck in scoring position’ and I’m supposed to- I quote, ‘not let the other team take you away’.”
Your mouth parted slightly in disbelief. “Oh my God.”
“Then, Jack came in to brush his teeth, said hi to me, but nothing else. Luke had his arm on my shoulder, and said something about the San Jose Sharks-”
“Oh my god!”
Connor blinked. “Do you have the context?”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Unfortunately, no.” You looked back to Connor, arms crossed. “There’s something fuckin’ weird going on, and I’m in the dark. I’m never left in the dark.” Connor gulped like a child being scolded, and you softened your expression with a sigh. “No, you know what? It’s the day of the annual summer party, and I am not letting them ruin that. They will not take up space in my mind.” You shook your head as if you were trying to shake off the thought of what your brothers were doing. “You’re on Luke’s good side, so just…take it. That is a blessing, along with Jack not seeming to care that you were in the bathroom.”
Connor exhaled slowly, visibly relieved by the slight softening in your voice. “So…I can have breakfast with Quinn Hughes in peace?”
You raised a brow. “You sure you’re here for me?”
He perked up. “Promise.”
You turned toward your closet and pulled out a zip-up hoodie, tossing it on over your tank top before spinning back to face him. “Ready?”
He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, tugging at the roots a little. “I guess so.”
You were already walking toward the door. “Oh, and by the way, Quinn is like, a really good cook. It’ll be the best breakfast you’ve ever had.”
Connor smiled, trailing behind you. “I bet.”
As you made your way down the hallway, the sounds of Jack yelling something unintelligible from downstairs echoed up the walls, followed by the unmistakable clatter of a frying pan hitting the floor and someone yelling “IT’S FINE!”
Connor paused mid-step. “Okay, wait, this isn’t a secret ‘jump Connor Bedard’ plan?”
You glanced back at him. “If it is, Quinn’s shutting it down. He implemented a no violence rule a couple years ago when Trevor and Jack broke the kitchen table.”
“Even though he probably thinks I defiled his sister?”
You laughed. “He’s more concerned about your taste pallet.”
Connor blinked. “I hate how that makes me feel worse.”
You stopped just at the top of the stairs and turned to face him fully. “Connor.” He met your eyes instantly. “I’m glad you stayed.” Just like that, the tension in his shoulders slackened—not completely, but enough. Like your voice alone gave him permission to take a full breath again.
“Me too.” He said softly. Then Jack’s voice exploded from downstairs again, this time much louder.
“YO, IF YOU’RE NOT DOWN HERE IN 60 SECONDS, I’M FEEDING YOUR WAFFLE TO THE DOG.”
Connor flinched. “You don’t have a dog.”
You winced. “Yeah, that’s what makes it scary.” Connor's fingers fidgeted at the hem of Luke’s pajama pants, and you were already heading down the stairs. “C’mon, Bedsy,” you called without looking back. “Last one to the table gets Jack’s leftovers.” That was all the motivation he needed. The scene downstairs was exactly like he’d pictured the Hughes family’s Saturday morning breakfast. Luke was shirtless in plaid pants, standing over a waffle maker, spatula in one hand, and his phone in the other playing an obnoxiously loud Youtube video. Jack was at the fridge, chugging orange juice from the jug while scrolling on his phone. Quinn was composed, clean, flipping a pancake with methodical precision. He wore a perfectly fitted T-shirt, and his hair was damp from a shower.
He looked up when he saw you, and gave a small nod. “Morning.”
Then his eyes slid to Connor. Connor’s heart stuttered in his chest, but Quinn didn’t say anything. He just gestured subtly toward a chair at the table and placed down a new plate. Waffles, bacon, eggs, cut fruit—It looked like something from a magazine.
“Coffee?” Quinn asked.
Connor blinked. “Uh…yes, please. Thank you.”
Luke pointed his spatula at him from across the kitchen. “Hey, I know this guy! I ran into him in the bathroom this morning!”
Connor closed his eyes. “Oh my god.”
Jack smirked without looking up from his phone. “What are the odds?”
You sat beside Connor with a casual shrug. “Pretty high, I’d say.”
Luke slid over in his socks and dropped into the seat across from Connor. “So…how’d this happen?” He grinned, throwing a piece of bacon into his mouth. “Are you getting paid?” He gasped, leaning forward. “Are you a prostitute?”
“Shut up, Luke.” You said, kicking him under the table.
Luke glared, furrowing his brows. “Sorry, there’s just no other explanation I can think of for why a first round pick would be sleeping in your room.”
You rolled your eyes. “Hm, maybe it’s cause I’m a total catch, and better than you in every way possible?”
“You’re not better than me in any way, except maybe at being an annoying shit-bag.”
You leaned in closer, eyes burning with rage. “The only annoying shit-bag here is you, and your disgusting habit of talking with your mouth full.”
Luke chewed dramatically slow, eyes locked on yours. “At least I can chew. You grind your teeth like a gremlin in your sleep.”
“Enough.” Quinn said, not looking up from the pan.
Luke held his hands up, still chewing. “Just making breakfast conversation.” You sat back in your chair with a loud exhale, stabbing a strawberry from the plate Quinn had set between you and Connor. “You never answered my question.” Luke said, causing you to groan and drop your fork onto your plate.
“We hung out downtown last night, he needed a place to stay, so I offered him the twin bed in my room. He’s my friend. Cut it out.” You said, rolling your eyes before picking your fork back up.
“Slut,” Luke muttered into his coffee.
You looked up, glaring. “What was that?”
He shook his head innocently. “Nothing.” Connor felt the air shift, just enough to know the line had officially been crossed. The clink of your fork hitting your plate was louder this time, more deliberate. Your jaw tensed.
Quinn didn’t even flinch from the stove. “Language.”
“I said nothing,” Luke replied, still in that fake-innocent tone, but he was smirking into his mug like he thought it was funny.
You leaned forward, your voice cold and flat. “Say it again.”
Luke met your stare across the table, still lounging like this wasn’t about to become a homicide. “What?”
“We’re in the middle of something beautiful.” Jack whispered to Connor, not looking away from you and Luke.
You didn’t blink. “Luke, you know what happens when you call me that.”
“Outside,” Jack whispered, lightly tapping his fists on the counter.
“I didn’t call you anything,” Luke said, playing it off, the grin still curling around the edges of his mouth. “I said nothing.”
“Outside,” Jack whispered again, now chanting it repetitively. Connor could feel his heart rate picking up. He wanted to reach out to say something, but it wasn’t his place.
In one motion, you stood from your seat, and reached over the island to grab Luke by the collar. “Listen here, dickhead-”
“Yes!” Jack cheered, throwing his arms in the air as he stood. Connor’s face was plastered with fear, but Luke’s looked more like existential dread. Out of nowhere, Quinn was suddenly behind you, pulling you away from Luke until you let go.
“Outside.” He scolded. “Jack, go.”
“Outside!” Jack repeated, excitedly following you and Luke who’d already headed for the back porch. Quinn sighed in exhaustion, grabbing his own plate before sitting down at the head of the table. The slam of the door made Connor jump, but Quinn didn’t flinch.
He glanced up from his plate, looking at Connor. “Sorry, you have to endure this.” Quinn said, voice tired. “It’s quick. She only gets 30 seconds.”
Connor raised a brow, genuinely scared. “Gets?” Quinn didn’t get the chance to respond before the sound of a muffled groan came from outside, followed by a laugh from Jack, and a “suck it, bitch!” from you. Connor blinked, still staring at the door like someone might come flying through it. “That was her hitting him, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
Quinn finally looked up and offered the faintest trace of a smirk. “She doesn’t miss.”
Everything after you dragged Luke outside happened in a blur. Quinn’s quietly amused smirk, Jack narrating the entire thing, and you returning ten seconds later with a smug look and a new scrape on your knuckle. The kitchen stayed loud, bodies moved in and out, familiar voices echoing through the house, but the world around Connor felt slightly out of focus. Like the morning haze still hadn’t fully cleared from his brain.
He found himself back in your room somehow, staring at the muted TV while you dug through your closet for an outfit. He didn’t realize he was still holding the mug Quinn had handed him until you tapped his arm and swapped it for a cold glass of water. The rest of the day passed far too quickly, yet stretched thin in all the right places. Somewhere between helping Jack move all the backyard furniture and watching Luke almost break the Bluetooth speaker for the third time, Connor blinked and found himself upstairs again, half-asleep in your lap. The party was just on the edge of beginning. The sunlight had started to fade out of your room, casting a warmer hue across your walls, and you hadn’t stopped playing with his hair since he sat down.
8:03 PM
You leaned your head back just slightly against the pillow, fiddling with the hem of your sundress before returning your eyes to the TV. Your room was warm, the TV at a low volume, and Connor had fallen asleep with his head in your lap about an hour ago, exhausted from the long day of prepping the house. You’d been scratching his head with your manicured nails for longer than you could remember, and eventually he drifted off without thinking. It was quiet, so quiet– until your door burst open, to reveal Trevor Zegras with a wide grin on his face, and Cole Caufield just behind him. They’d clearly run up the stairs, out of breath as they stood in the doorframe.
“Shhh!” You put your finger to your lips, brows furrowed. “Get out!” You whisper-yelled.
Both of them covered their mouths, realizing Connor was asleep before tip-toeing into your room. You swatted your hand at them, anger written all over your expression.
Trevor looked down at Connor asleep on your lap, a smile on his face. “You have a first round pick in your bed,” He whispered, pointing at Connor. “And it’s not Jack when he’s drunk enough to forget where his room is.”
“He looks so cute,” Cole mumbled, looking at the adult man in your lap. “I wanna squeeze him.” He smiled hard, looking to you, but your face was dead panned.
“Stop looking at him like he’s a newborn baby, and get out.” You said, as quietly as you could.
Trevor dramatically placed a hand over his heart like you’d just insulted his child. “He is a baby.” Trevor leaned his head down across from Connor’s, but not quite touching your lap.
“Stop it!” You whispered, attempting to swat him away.
Trevor didn’t stop. He moved his face just inches away from Connor’s, ignoring your begging. “Hi, Bedsy.” He said at a normal volume, and Connor immediately opened his eyes with a jolt.
“The fuck, Trevor?” He said with a slight aggression. Trevor laughed, and Connor absentmindedly grabbed the pillow next to him, throwing it at Trevor. He dodged the pillow, falling into a pit of laughter with Cole.
Connor sat up, dazed, hair tousled and eyes still adjusting to the light. His head swiveled between the two idiots at your door and you, who had your hands pressed flat to your face in pure mortification. “What are you guys even doing here? Party doesn’t start for another two hours.”
“One hour,” Trevor corrected quickly, and Connor immediately looked to you.
You plastered on an embarrassed smile, looking back at him. “You’ve been out since 7.” Connor groaned, letting his head hand for a moment.
Trevor moved closer to the bed, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder– his eyes lifted, only seen through the gaps of his curtain bangs. “I had to, man. You looked too peaceful, and the party starts soon.” Connor raised a brow, listening to Trevor’s quiet words. “You know I love you.” Trevor removed his hand from Connor’s shoulder, offering it out to him for a dap up. Connor ran a hand through his hair before returning the gesture, eyes never quite looking into Trevor’s.
“I’m Cole,” Cole said from afar, waving a hand in the air. “Never officially met, but-”
“We’ve met on the ice.” Connor interrupted with a small smile. “Hey, Caufield.” He nodded his head, returning a hand wave.
Trevor spun on his heel, heading towards the door. “We’re gonna check out the scene downstairs,” He stopped, turning to face both you and Connor, pointing his finger out. “You guys know where the party’s at.”
“Woo!” Cole exclaimed, following Trevor out of the room. Connor stared at the now-closed door for a long, silent second after the chaos evaporated down the hall.
He finally exhaled a slow, exhausted breath and sank back into the pillows behind him. “What a wake up call.”
You snorted, scooting a little closer and tugging the edge of the blanket back over his legs, which had ended up tangled somewhere near the foot of the bed. “To be fair, you looked really peaceful. You kinda curled into me like a golden retriever.”
Connor groaned again, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” you teased, your voice softening. “It was sweet.” He peeked out from under his arm, his eyes still heavy-lidded, but a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
9:12 PM
The two of you stayed upstairs, stayed in the quiet sanctuary you’d build. You sat across from each other on the middle of the bed, falling into conversation for the past hour. You could hear some early arrivals coming from downstairs, but neither of you wanted to go down just yet. Connor’s pajama pants were now replaced with a pair of blue jeans, but he kept the same white shirt. Your bare knees, revealed by your sundress, brushed his each time you laughed. It was his goal to make you laugh as much as possible.
“I’m not kidding,” You said, laughing through your words. “Like, I fully face-planted on the ice.”
Connor laughed, more softly than you did. “I’m sure no one noticed.”
You looked at him, shocked but still laughing. “Maybe when you fall, but I was the only one out there!” Both you and Connor fell into a pit of laughter, your head brushing his shoulder just barely as you cackled. As you were still trying to catch your breath, you heard the door knock three times. “Yeah?” You called out, both of you still laughing. The door opened slowly, and you and Connor both turned your heads to find Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith standing in the doorway. It clicked in Connor’s mind in a millisecond—That’s what Luke meant by, the “Twins of San Jose”.
“Didn’t know the party was happening up here.” Macklin said, looking around the room as he walked in.
You hopped off the bed, eyebrow raised as you went in to give him a side-hug. “I didn’t know you guys were coming.” Connor stayed seated on the bed, wearing a soft smile as Will walked in to stand close by.
“Jack let us know a few weeks back.” Macklin said with a shrug. Both Connor and Will just watched the interaction with curious eyes. You turned, giving Will a smile before pulling him in for a hug. He used one arm, the other holding a 12-pack of beers.
“You guys know Connor, right?” You asked as you pulled away, looking back at the bed. Macklin nodded, waving over which Connor returned.
Will held out his hand for a dap up, and Connor quickly took it. “‘Sup, Will.”
“How you been, man?” Macklin asked, slightly more awkward than usual.
Connor rested both hands behind him on the bed, leaning back. “I’ve been good, you know? Just ready to get back into the season.” The room echoed with awkward laughs, but somehow the slight tension was eased just a bit.
“Heard that.” Will said with a smile. Connor nodded once, then shifted his weight forward slightly, hands now clasped between his knees. There was just a beat of silence, far too awkward for longer than you liked.
“So,” You sighed. “Should we go downstairs?” Connor quickly hopped off the bed, hands in his pockets as everyone agreed. Him and Will walked ahead, chatting about Chicago, San Jose, and how ready they both were for the season to start. You and Macklin followed close behind.
The four of you made your way down the stairs, your heels light against the hardwood, the murmur of conversation and music growing louder as the party came into focus. The house had shifted in atmosphere. More people now, a low hum of excitement vibrating through the walls, beer bottles clinking, and the smell of someone burning garlic bread already filling the kitchen. Will glanced over his shoulder once, just briefly, eyes flicking toward you. You caught it and offered a quiet smile. Connor’s shoulders loosened. Will had said something that made him laugh, not the short, polite kind, but a real one, and for a moment you could almost believe nothing had shifted upstairs.
Macklin walked beside you, a hand rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke low, so only you could hear. “So…that’s a thing now? Didn’t know you knew Bedard.”
You looked at him from the corner of your eye. “He’s a new friend.”
He smiled like he knew you were lying through your teeth. “Sure.”
You gave a small shrug, but there was no denying the smile tugging at your lips. “You and Will are my friends, why can’t Connor be?”
“He can.” Macklin tapped the railing gently with his knuckles as you walked. “He’s cool. Just didn’t expect it.”
9:20 PM
When you reached the bottom of the stairs, the living room was already buzzing. You quickly brushed past your friends when you spotted Jack in the kitchen, laughing with Luke and Dawson Mercer. You walked up to him, not caring about anything else when you gave him a quick punch to the shoulder.
“Ow!” He said, smile fading as he protected his red solo cup. “What the hell-”
“You invited Macklin and Will.” You pointed a finger at him, huffing out your breath.
Jack scoffed. “Yeah, they’re your friends. Thought you’d be happy.”
“You didn’t tell me before you did it!” You narrowed your eyes. “Jack.”
He held both hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I should’ve told you. But c’mon, I figured it’d be a good surprise. What’s the big deal?”
Luke, already halfway through a new beer, turned to you too. “Jack’s a snake.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Jack pointed his cup toward the living room, where Connor and Macklin were deep in conversation near the hallway. “They’re getting along just fine. Nothing to worry about.” Jack said, placing his free hand on your shoulder. You followed his gaze. Connor was leaning against the wall now, arms loosely crossed, laughing at something Mack had said.
“Take a chill pill.” Dawson said, handing you a drink. You just stared at the red cup for a moment, but he shook it slightly in front of you. “Please, for the rest of our sanities.” You snatched the cup, glaring at Dawson as you chugged. Jack and Luke stared wide eyed as you never broke terrifying eye contact with their friend. The cup was empty before Dawson could blink. You lowered it slowly, lips still pressed to the rim for a beat longer than necessary, then handed it back to him without breaking eye contact.
“There,” you said flatly.
Jack snorted. “See? She just needed alcohol.”
You turned on him instantly. “Fuck you-”
“You gonna offer me a drink, Hughes?” Will’s voice cut through your words instantly, and your heart dropped to your stomach as he placed his hands on your shoulders from behind. Your once aggressive demeanor towards Dawson had morphed into a rosie-cheeked, nervous one towards Will.
“Oh- Uh- yeah. There some- uh…weird concoction Jack made on the counter.” you stammered out, laughing awkwardly. Jack smirked, and Luke just stared with a brow raised. Will’s hands lifted off your shoulders as he stepped around you to grab a cup.
Will poured himself a drink, glancing back at you over his shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you said too quickly, then corrected yourself. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Will smirked, stepping into your small conversation circle. “Well, come hangout when you’re done over here.” You nodded with a smile, everyone just staring as he faded away into the living room. You stood there for a second longer than necessary after Will disappeared, the space he’d occupied still warm against your shoulders. Jack watched you with a knowing look, Luke openly unimpressed, and Dawson was already halfway distracted by someone yelling his name from the living room.
“Well,” Luke said, clapping his hands once. “That was…normal.”
You shot him a look. “You’re on thin ice.”
“Story of my life.”
Jack leaned in slightly. “You good?”
You nodded, exhaling. “Yeah. I’m good.” You took another sip of your drink, slower this time, then glanced back toward the living room. Will had already blended into the crowd, loud and magnetic, gesturing wildly as he told a story to Macklin and a couple of guys you barely recognized. Connor, meanwhile, had shifted spots. He was closer to the kitchen now, talking with Quinn, one shoulder angled toward the room like he was unconsciously keeping you in his peripheral. Your eyes met for half a second. Connor smiled– not big, not performative. Just soft, and familiar. The kind that made your chest tighten in a quiet, inconvenient way. You looked away first.
“Okay,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “I’m gonna…circulate.”
Jack grinned. “Godspeed.” You slipped out of the kitchen, weaving through bodies and half-shouted conversations. Someone brushed past you, spilling beer onto the floor. Someone else yelled for the speaker. The music changed. Something louder, bass-heavy, and the house responded accordingly.
You hadn’t made it far when a hand gently caught your wrist. “Hey,” Macklin.
You turned to face him, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. The noise around you felt muted, like the room had narrowed just enough to make this moment unavoidable.
“Hey,” you echoed.
“Just checking,” he said, thumb brushing lightly against the inside of your wrist before he seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped his hand. “You kinda vanished.”
You shrugged. “Got intercepted.” He smiled at that, then glanced over your shoulder toward the living room. Will was laughing again, head tipped back.
“You wanna get some air?” Macklin asked. “It’s loud in here.”
You hesitated, just a second, but nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.” You slipped past the crowd together, bodies brushing occasionally as you moved toward the back door.
Outside, the night air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat inside. The noise dulled instantly once the door shut behind you. You both leaned against the railing of the back porch, shoulder to shoulder but not touching.
Macklin exhaled, looking up at the sky. “I forgot what these parties are like.”
You smiled. “You missed it.”
“Did I?” He glanced at you, eyebrow raised.
You laughed softly. “No, probably not.”
Another pause settled between you, comfortable again. Dangerous in how easy it felt. Macklin shifted his weight, elbows resting on the railing now. The porch light cast a soft glow across his face, enough to catch the crease between his brows as his expression turned thoughtful.
“So,” he said after a beat, voice casual but not careless, “Connor?”
You let out a quiet breath, staring out into the yard. “What about him?”
Macklin huffed a small laugh. “You always answer questions with questions?”
“Only the loaded ones.”
He tilted his head, studying you. “Didn’t realize you two were…close.”
“We’re not,” you said quickly.
Macklin nodded slowly, like he was filing that away. “He’s a solid guy.”
You glanced at him. “That’s all you’ve got?”
He smirked. “Just, don’t let him take my spot. I was here first.”
You let out a short laugh. “Calling dibs now?”
Macklin held his hands up in surrender, grinning. “Just saying, I’m the OG. I was the one who introduced you to Will, and I love him, but it’s been a pain trying to keep him out of my spotlight.”
You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”
“Accurate,” Macklin said easily. “But I’m also not wrong.” You leaned back against the railing, folding your arms loosely as you looked out into the yard. The grass was dark and uneven under the porch light, a couple of empty bottles already scattered near the fence like casualties of the night.
“I’m not letting anyone take anyone’s spot,” you said after a moment. “This isn’t…that.”
Macklin glanced at you, the grin fading into something more thoughtful. “Just checking.” From inside, the bass thudded through the walls, muffled now but still present, like a reminder that you couldn’t stay out here forever.
Macklin bumped your shoulder lightly with his own. “For what it’s worth, though…I get it.”
You looked at him. “Get what?”
“The appeal,” he said, nodding toward the house. “Connor. He’s quiet, observant, not trying to be the loudest guy in the room.”
You smiled despite yourself. “That’s a very generous read.”
“I’m a generous guy.” He pushed off the railing, stretching his arms over his head. “Anyway. I just wanted to make sure you were good. Nights like this can get weird fast.”
You met his eyes, warmth settling in your chest. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
The back door creaked open again, light spilling onto the porch. Ethan Edwards leaned halfway outside, scanning the space until his eyes landed on you. “There you are,” he said.
You gasped, smiling wide, eyes lightening. “Ethan!” Then Mark Estapa slid into frame behind him. “Oh my god, Mark! I missed you guys.”
“Missed you too!” Mark smiled innocently, waving his hand.
Ethan stepped closer. “Luke is doing dumb shit in the living room.”
“Dumb shit?” You asked.
“Dancing.”
“Shit.” You groaned. “I need to see this.”
“Yeah, it is not going well.” Mark said with a slight giggle in his voice. As you stepped past Macklin toward the door, he reached out and lightly tapped your wrist again– this time quick, deliberate.
“Hey,” he said quietly. You turned back, and he smiled softly. “Don’t disappear completely, okay?”
You nodded. “I won’t.”
9:43 PM
Inside, the music swelled again, laughter spilling into the hallway as you rejoined the night. The living room swallowed you whole the second you stepped back inside. Music pounding, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with beer and heat and noise. Ethan immediately grabbed your hand, tugging you forward like he was afraid you’d vanish.
“C’mon,” he said, laughing. “Front row seats.” You barely had time to register what was happening before you saw it. Luke, shirt untucked, beer abandoned somewhere behind him, fully committed to whatever unholy rhythm was playing through the speakers. His hips moved with an alarming level of confidence for someone who absolutely should not have had it. Rutger McGroarty stood nearby, filming on his phone, tears streaming down his face from laughing too hard.
“Oh my god,” you said, horrified and delighted all at once. “He thinks he’s killing it.”
“He does,” Mark said solemnly. “That’s the worst part.” You doubled over, laughter ripping out of you before you could stop it, hands braced on your knees as tears pricked your eyes. Connor stood near the edge of the crowd, drink in hand, watching the chaos with an expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. His eyes flicked to you, zeroed in instantly. When you straightened up, still laughing, your gazes locked. There it was again, that soft smile. Will appeared at his side, saying something you couldn’t hear. Connor laughed, but his eyes never left you. Will followed his line of sight, brows lifting just slightly before he smirked.
“You’re popular tonight,” Ethan teased, nudging you.
You scoffed. “Relax.”
Rutger shoved his phone in your face. “Tell him to stop before he pulls something.”
“I will not,” you said firmly. “This is character development.” Luke slipped, caught himself on the couch, and threw both arms up like he’d planned it. The room erupted in cheers, groans, and someone whistling obnoxiously loud. Luke bowed, chest heaving, sweat already darkening the collar of his shirt.
“Thank you!” he yelled. “I’m here all night.”
“You shouldn’t be!” Dawson shot back from the couch.
Luke pointed at your best friend, Mia. “She gets it.”
“I absolutely do not,” Mia laughed, wiping at the corner of her eyes. Connor shook his head, smiling to himself as he took a sip of his drink. Will leaned closer to him, saying something low. Connor responded with a quiet laugh, shoulders loosening again, but his attention drifted back to you almost immediately.
Rutger was still filming. “This is going straight to the group chat.”
“Delete it,” Luke warned.
“No.”
“Can you Airdrop that to me?” You asked.
“Oh yeah, for sure.”
11:18 PM
You stood in the living room with a group of your friends, listening to Mia rant about her new situationship as you nursed a drink. You were barely tipsy, and you needed to be as drunk as the girls surrounding you. You glanced around the room, but there was no sign of any familiar faces. Then you turned your head to the kitchen. Will had flicked his head up from the counter at the same time, a wide smile across his face. Connor stood near him, leaning against the wall.
“Hughes!” He yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Shots!” He motioned you to come over, and with a grin, you speed walked your way to the kitchen. “C’mon Bedsy, you too.”
Connor pushed himself off the wall as you entered the room. “Nah, I don’t do shots.”
You scoffed, setting your cup down on the counter. “Boo! Lame!”
“Just one,” Will said, pouting his lip. “Please.”
Connor threw his hands up, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. Gotta please the crowd.” Will was already lining up three shot glasses, the tequila bottle uncapped beside him. You slid in beside him at the counter, shoulder brushing his as you leaned forward to inspect the label.
“Are you trying to poison me?” you asked with a grin.
Will leaned in closer, lowering his voice just for you. “Only a little.” You laughed, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you caught Connor’s eyes. Not cold, not exactly, but quietly watchful. He hadn’t moved much closer, but he stood opposite the counter now, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, shoulders slightly hunched forward like he was still debating his choice.
Will slid one of the shot glasses across to you, then handed one to Connor, who took it with a resigned sigh. “This is how people make bad decisions.”
Will was already holding his glass up, his smile bright and boyish. “To bad decisions,” he said. All three of you knocked the shots back. You winced, shuddering, tongue pressed hard to the roof of your mouth as the tequila scorched its way down.
Will immediately reached behind you, grabbing a lime wedge from a small plate and holding it up to your lips. “Here. Take it.” You blinked, surprised, before biting down on the lime with a quiet laugh. His hand lingered just a second too long near your mouth, and you were suddenly hyperaware of how close he was. Connor was already moving toward the fridge, casually grabbing a bottle of water.
“Whew,” you said, placing the lime down and shaking out your shoulders.
Will leaned back on the counter beside you, bumping your hip gently with his. “Think you can go for another?” Connor’s eyes flicked up from the fridge, an eyebrow raised.
You grinned. “Think? I know I can.” You grabbed the bottle, handing it over to Will.
“Alright.” He chuckled, pouring another shot into his glass.
Connor walked past you, close enough that your arms brushed. “Pour me one too.” Both you and Will turned your heads to him with wide eyes.
“You sure?” Will asked, and Connor nodded his head quickly. “What happened to just one?”
Connor shrugged his shoulders. “First one wasn’t as bad as I thought.”
Will let out a surprised laugh, raising both brows as he poured a third shot. “Look at Bedsy, becoming a bad influence.” You smiled, but you didn’t look at Will. You looked at Connor– the curve of his mouth suggested the beginnings of a smirk. He was standing closer now, the earlier hesitation in his posture gone.
“Peer pressure works wonders,” you said softly, sliding the full shot glass toward Connor. His fingers brushed yours as he took it– intentional, maybe, but light enough to pretend it wasn’t. All three of you tossed them back. You winced less this time. Maybe it was the warmth already spreading through your chest, or maybe it was the sharp way Connor’s eyes cut toward you when he set the glass down.
You grabbed another lime, laughing through the afterburn. “Okay,” you coughed, “now I feel it.”
Will wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, chuckling. “I’ll get us some chasers. Don’t move.” He stepped away, disappearing into the fridge with a purpose, leaving just you and Connor at the counter. The music from the living room swelled; a familiar beat thudding beneath your feet. But the kitchen felt oddly still in comparison. You turned slightly, eyes flicking up to meet Connor’s.
“Thought you didn’t take shots.” you said.
He shrugged, then leaned against the counter beside you. “I don’t.” Connor tilted his head toward the hallway Will had disappeared into. “I, uh…didn’t wanna miss out on the fun.”
That surprised a laugh out of you. “Are you jealous?”
He didn’t laugh, not exactly. But his mouth quirked, and he held your gaze like he wasn’t ready to let it go. “I’m not jealous.” You stared at him, something electric tightening in the space between you. Connor’s voice dropped just slightly, still quiet. “But I’ve been known to be more fun when I drink.” You didn’t have a chance to respond before Will reappeared, two cans of soda in one hand and a bottle of something citrusy in the other.
“Found treasure,” he said, setting them down and cracking one open for you. You laughed and took the soda, grateful for the sudden coolness against your lips. Will watched you drink it, smiling, relaxed, the space he took up in the room naturally larger than it had been before. Connor stepped back slightly, the edge of the counter pressing into the small of his back. Will cracked his own soda open with a hiss and leaned one elbow on the counter, casually inserting himself between you and Connor with the ease of someone who knew exactly how much space he commanded.
Will nudged your arm gently. “C’mon. Let’s go sit outside before the fire dies.”
You looked over at Connor, who gave you a small shrug. “Or we could do another.” he said. Will furrowed his brows just a hair, and a sly smirk spread across your face.
You leaned back slightly, tilting your head. “What? Can’t keep up, Smitty?”
Will grinned. “With you? Always.” Connor let out a soft breath, and crossed his arms over his chest. His smile was subtle, but the shift in his stance said everything. Will took a long sip of his soda before setting it down with a deliberate clack on the counter. “Alright, fuck it.” he said with a smile, tone light.
Connor clapped his hands, and you reached for the bottle, eyes locked on Will. “Pour ‘em.” You each grabbed your glass; downed, burned, lime. The counter thunked three times as the glasses hit it, one after another. You hissed out a breath and grabbed the citrus soda again.
“Okay,” Connor admitted. “That one got me.”
You glanced at him, smiling. “Welcome to the party.”
He met your eyes, something warmer there now, looser. The sharp edges had dulled just enough. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think I’m here.”
"Alright, fuckers! Flip Cup is in 10 minutes, and Jack is gonna throw you off the porch if you're late!" Trevor yelled, finally cutting through the tension filled air.
11:40 PM
On the back porch, Jack stood at the end of a long table with a red solo cup in his hand, drunkenly confident with his arms flailed out. “It is my honor to welcome you all to the 5th annual, end of summer, Hughes-Hosted, Flip Cup Championship Game.” Jack yelled, and the crowded porch erupted in cheers. “This year’s team captains will be me, obviously,” He smiled lazily. “And last year’s champion team pick, Mr. Trevor Zegras himself. We’ll go back and forth picking our players, and everyone knows the fuckin’ rules, so let’s just have fun.” You cheered, standing between Macklin, who had his arm around your shoulders, and Nico Hischier.
“My first pick,” Jack pointed at you in an instant. “Baby sis, let’s go.” You jumped up, clapping your hands together just once.
Trevor immediately groaned. “Rigged!” he called, holding his cup up like a protest flag. “She’s literally your blood.”
Jack shrugged, grinning. “Just say you wanna be us.” You grinned wider, walking to Jack’s side as the porch shifted into a semi-circle of cheers and heckling. Macklin smacked your back as you left, and Nico mock-bowed.
Trevor narrowed his eyes like he was calculating a counterstrike. “Alright,” he said, dramatic as ever. “For my first pick…I need someone who’s loud, and can drink like a fish.” His finger swerved like a radar until it landed. “Luke Hughes. Get over here, baby.”
Luke saluted and jogged over, bumping Trevor’s chest with his. “Let’s destroy them.”
Jack’s turn again. “Alright, alright…who should we get next?” You scanned the crowd, your eyes catching for a second on Connor, but skipping over when you spotted Trevor’s girlfriend, Dixie, standing alone.
You leaned into Jack’s ear, voice low. “Let me pick.” He raised his hands in mock surrender, and you took a step forward. “Trevor is an idiot, we’ll take Dixie D’Amelio.”
Trevor choked on his drink mid-sip. “What?” he sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like you’d just slapped him instead of spoken. Across the porch, Dixie laughed before walking up.
Jack cackled, gripping your shoulders with pride. “Evil twin!”
Trevor looked stunned for a beat too long. “You can’t– she was supposed to be on my–” He turned to Luke, baffled. “She’s mine.”
Luke clapped him on the back, trying and failing to suppress his laughter. “She’s a free agent, bro.”
Trevor scowled at his cup, then turned back to the table. “Fine. You want to play that way? My next pick–”
“Whoap!” You interrupted, holding a hand up. “You lost Dixie ‘cause you weren’t being smart. Do you want revenge, or do you want to win the game?”
Trevor huffed out a breath, hands on his hips as he rolled his eyes. He glanced across the crowd, then grinned. “Cole, get your cute ass over here.” Cole popped up immediately. He jogged over, high-fiving Luke and offering Trevor a cheeky little hip bump that drew another round of laughs from the porch.
Trevor turned to Jack with mock arrogance. “Your move, Hughes.”
Jack smirked at Trevor, arms crossed. “Gimme’ Will Smith.” He said like he’d already crafted his roster weeks ago. Will froze mid-sip, his cup paused at his lips.
Trevor squinted. “You’re stacking,” he muttered. “I want it on record.”
Jack snorted. “Trevor, the only thing on record is your losing streak.” Then he pointed at Will. “Welcome to Team Hughes, Smitty.”
Will just grinned around his cup before finishing the drink in one pull. “Grateful to be here.” he said, already walking toward your team. Jack clapped him on the back as he passed, and Will slid effortlessly in beside you at the table, bumping your hip just hard enough to make you sway.
“Let’s fuck ‘em up.” he muttered under his breath, the warmth of his voice grazing your neck. You didn’t turn toward him, but the grin on your face deepened.
Macklin whistled through his teeth, still standing by Nico. “Yo! Jacky! This is definitely in violation of the First Overall Pick Oath. You’re betraying the brotherhood.”
“Yeah, I second that.” Connor chimed in from the other side of the porch, leaning on the rail with a drink in his hand. “Your first two picks don’t even play hockey, and your third was drafted in fourth.”
Nico threw his arm over Macklin’s shoulders, giving Jack an offended expression. “I call bullshit! This is treason!”
Jack took a long, dramatic sip from his cup, then raised both hands like a preacher. “Well, I–”
Before he could get out a single sentence, Trevor interrupted him at the speed of light, pointing a finger in Jack’s face. “Notakebacksgivemeconnorbedard”
“Fuck!” You yelled, smacking the table.
Will pressed his hand to his forehead. “That was our secret weapon.” He mumbled, shaking his head.
Trevor smirked as Connor walked over. “I know,” He nodded his head. “I saw the three of you going shot-for-shot in the kitchen earlier. This kid can drank!”
You were still gripping the table edge. “That was the dirtiest steal I’ve ever seen.” Connor didn’t say a word as he approached the opposite side of the table, now slotted right between Luke and Cole, but his eyes found yours. You crossed your arms and gave him the flattest, driest glare you could muster. “Traitor.”
Connor tilted his head slightly. “Wasn’t my call.”
“Yeah?” You raised a brow. “But you walked over.”
He smiled– small, sharp, and maddeningly unreadable. “I go where I’m needed.” Jack grumbled to himself as the final picks were made. Jack took Nico, so Trevor took Macklin. Then Jack got Dawson, and Luke told Trevor to pick Ethan Edwards. You conspired, took Mark Estapa, so of course, Trevor stole Mia. You were pissed. The crowd shuffled and shouted as players lined up on either side of the long table. Cups were being filled, and the night swelled to that golden hour where everything was just a little too loud, and a little too blurred. Finally, Jack and Trevor had arranged their perfect lineups.
TEAM HUGHES
You
Will Smith
Nico Hischier
Dixie D’amelio
Dawson Mercer
Mark Estapa
Jack Hughes
TEAM ZEGRAS
Connor Bedard
Luke Hughes
Ethan Edwards
Mia Watson
Macklin Celebrini
Cole Caufield
Trevor Zegras
You narrowed your eyes when Luke suggested that Connor go first instead of him. You and Luke had always gone head to head in flipcup. “What the fuck is he up to?” You whispered to yourself, eyes never steering from Luke as he switched spots.
“Huh?” Will asked.
“Thinkin’ out loud.” You said, still glaring at Luke. You shook the feeling off quickly, reminding yourself to not pay attention to whatever scheming was going on between your brothers. You planted your feet, eyes sweeping across the lineup one more time. Jack stood at the head of the table, of course, riling up the crowd. Will leaned his forearms on the table beside you, bouncing slightly with anticipation. But it was Connor who had your pulse ticking unevenly. You glared at Luke one more time, but he didn’t look at you. He was whispering something to Connor. Connor nodded once, then he looked up, eyes catching yours with eerie precision.
“You ready?” Will asked next to you, twisting his cap backward like he was stepping up to the plate.
“Born ready,” you muttered, eyes still locked on Connor.
Jack held his cup high like he was baptizing the porch in lager. “Alright, bitches. Flip Cup Final. One round. Winner takes everything.”
“Define everything,” Macklin shouted.
“Bragging rights and a handle of Titos,” Jack replied instantly. A cheer went up from both teams. Your eyes flicked to Trevor, who was spinning his cup like a fidget toy at the far end, and then back to Connor.
“Your face is freaking me out.” He said quietly, a grin on his face.
You bit the inside of your mouth, hand gripping the cup in front of you. “Just know you’re not getting a win out of this.”
He raised his brows, still holding a smile. “You’re scary competitive. Should’ve known from breakfast this morning.”
“Mhm,” You smacked your lips. “I’d tread lightly if I were you. This is my specialty”
Connor shrugged. “May the biggest alcoholic win.”
Jack called out, voice booming, “One, two, three…go!” Your cup hit your lips before the word even left Jack’s tongue. It was muscle memory by now, the kind of drinking that didn’t even feel like drinking. You slammed the cup down, fingers already in place, flipping it clean on the first try. So did Connor. Will took over behind you, fumbling just once before he landed it with a muttered, “Shit.” Nico nailed his flip in one go. Dixie struggled, cursed loudly, but got it on her third try. On the other side, Luke was surgical. Ethan, surprisingly fast. Mia was already halfway through chugging and flipping with zero coordination.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Jack was yelling. “Move your asses!” Dawson versus Macklin was tight, but Macklin spilled half his beer and had to refill. You slapped your hands on the table, screaming with laughter. Will was jumping in place. Mark and Cole, at the caboose, both got theirs on the first try. Final cups, Jack and Trevor. Trevor slammed his drink and flipped, but it caught the rim and spun out. Jack’s cup hit the table. The porch erupted. Everyone on your team jumped, screamed, slammed into each other in a whirlwind of victory. Dixie grabbed you and spun you in a messy, shrieking hug. Will slammed his cup on the ground like he’d won a championship ring. Jack was standing on a chair, pouring beer over his own head. Connor was still standing there, cup in hand, expression unreadable, sweat along his collarbone from the adrenaline. You stepped just a few paces closer. You tilted your head, lifted your hand slowly, and mouthed one word.
“Traitor”
Connor’s mouth curved, barely. He set his cup down, stepped forward until your shoulders were nearly brushing. “I warned you,” he said quietly, just for you. “I go where I’m needed.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t look like they needed you.”
He leaned in just slightly, lips near your ear, voice soft but cutting. “They didn’t…maybe I just wanted to stare at you from across the table.” Then he just walked away. No words, just a drunken stumble back into the house. You raised a brow and watched him trip on a chair, but catch himself quickly. You let out a short laugh, one quiet enough so he couldn’t hear. You shrugged, turning your body to be met face to face with Will. Macklin stood behind him, a drunken smile spread across his face.
Will’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, just for a second, then back up. “You got a bathing suit on under this?” He asked, wearing a flashy grin.
Your brows lifted slightly at the bluntness, but your smile came back slow and sideways. “Duh,”
“Come on,” Will said, stepping back and reaching out a hand. “Victory swim.” You glanced once toward the house, where Connor had disappeared, and then at Will, still standing there, hand out, and patient.
“Fuck it.” You said, grabbing his hand with a smile.
Macklin, clearly too drunk to keep up. “Wait, I didn’t- I’m not- I didn’t win. How is it a victory swim?”
Will nudged Mack with his shoulder lightly. “We’ll share the victory with you.” Will’s hand closed around yours, warm and steady, and in the next breath you were tugged off the porch and into motion.
12:05 AM
Your bare feet slapped lightly against the grass as the night swallowed you whole. Behind you, Macklin trailed in drunken confusion, muttering something about the competition and how he still deserved a cannonball. The house blurred behind you, and so did Connor. The pool shimmered at the end of the yard, glowing in that unnatural blue, the surface quiet and untouched.
Will didn’t slow down until you were right at the edge of the water, still holding your hand. His eyes flicked to your sundress, then back to your face. “You goin’ full send?” You answered by stepping out of your sandals and reaching for the hem of your dress, peeling it over your head in one motion, the cool night air kissing your skin. You were already moving toward the water when Will’s voice followed. “Jesus,” he muttered, a little breathless, “okay.”
You dove first, clean and quick, the water cutting around your body like silk. The cold hit your bones in an instant, shocking the alcohol in your bloodstream, sobering you just enough to feel everything again. You came up laughing, brushing your hair back, spinning in place to see Will standing at the edge, already shirtless, jeans half-unbuttoned.
“You gonna stare or swim?” you called out.
“Both,” he said, and then cannonballed in after you. Macklin belly-flopped seconds later, shouting something about reclaiming his dignity, but you barely noticed. Will popped up a few feet from you, shaking water from his hair and swimming closer.
“Is this party everything you dreamed of it being?” he asked, voice low.
“And more.” You joked, smiling wide.
Will moved closer, only a foot between you now. The water shifted around you both, slow ripples folding the light across his shoulders. “I’m having a lot of fun.” Then he pointed at Mack, who was floating on his back with his arms out. “Mack is definitely having the time of his life.”
You let out a short laugh, glancing over at Macklin. “Yeah…” You paused before turning back to Will, voice lowering. “I’m really glad you guys came tonight. It was a nice surprise.”
Will smirked, but it was softer than usual. “Yeah, I’m glad we came too.” The music from the house carried faintly over the water, muffled and distant, like it belonged to another world entirely. Will tilted his head slightly, studying your face in that way that made it feel like you were the only person in the pool.
“You’re fun to hang out with,” he added, quieter now. “You keep people smiling.”
You shrugged, water lapping at your shoulders as you drifted just a little closer without meaning to…or maybe meaning to. “I don’t try to. I just…do stuff.”
He really smiled at that, unguarded. “Yeah, that tracks.” For a beat, neither of you said anything. The pool lights flickered across his jaw, his collarbones, the line of his shoulders as he floated there, steady and calm like he wasn’t hyperaware of how close you were.
Behind you, Macklin suddenly splashed upright. “I would just like it on record,” he announced loudly, “that this pool is cold as fuck.” You laughed, breaking the moment just enough to make it survivable. Will glanced over his shoulder, then back at you, lips twitching.
“I really want to kiss you right now.” He mumbled, drunk confidence taking over. Your insides panicked a little at the sheer bluntness, but you never showed it on your face.
“Why?” You asked calmly, a sly smirk on your face. Will laughed, shaky and nervous. He didn’t know what he’d expected you to say, but it wasn’t that.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, water dripping down his forearm. “Uh– shit,” he said, shaking his head like he could reset himself. “I don’t know. You just– ” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “You make it easy…to forget stuff.”
You tilted your head, still smiling, but your voice stayed steady. “Forget what?”
He exhaled through his nose, a short breath. “Everything,” he said, then winced like he’d said too much. “I mean–” He laughed again, softer this time. “I’m drunk. That’s my excuse.”
“Convenient,” you teased.
“Extremely.” He floated back half a foot, giving you space without fully retreating, eyes still locked on yours. “I just think you’re…like really beautiful, and cool, and funny, a-and you’re standing right here.”
You hummed, considering him, the honesty, the timing. “So,” you said lightly, kicking your legs to keep yourself afloat, “that’s your whole argument?”
He grinned, relieved you hadn’t shut him down outright. “I know, It’s not a great…opening statement. I didn’t prepare.”
“Hm,” You squinted your eyes. “Interesting.”
“I’m not gonna like…try to kiss you or anything,” he said. “just wanted to make it known.”
You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, then smiled gently. “Right,”
“Right.” He repeated, grinning.
“Just…drunken honesty.”
“Drunken honesty.” He let out a quiet laugh, the tension easing just a notch as the words settled between you. The pool rocked gently, water bumping against the tile in slow, lazy waves.
Macklin chose that moment to splash aggressively toward the edge of the pool. “I regret to inform everyone,” he announced, hauling himself halfway out, “that hypothermia is a real thing and I am a victim.”
You laughed again. Will shook his head, smiling to himself.
“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the steps. You swam toward the edge, water streaming off your arms as you climbed out, the night air cool against your skin. Will followed a second later, sitting on the edge beside you, feet still in the pool. For a moment, you just sat there shoulder to shoulder, close but not crossing anything.
You smiled, bumping your knee gently against his. “Hey, thanks for telling me you wanna kiss me. Gave me a good ego boost.”
He grinned. “Anytime.” You both sat there, feet dangling in the water, the surface rippling every time one of you shifted. Will glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “But, uh,” he added, casual but not careless, “for the record…wasn’t just the alcohol talking.”
You hummed, leaning back on your hands. “Mm. Noted.”
He laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re dangerous.”
“Am I?” you asked, tilting your head toward him.
“Yeah,” he said easily. “But in a fun way.” You bumped his shoulder that time.
Behind you, Macklin reappeared wrapped in a towel he’d clearly stolen from inside, dripping dramatically onto the concrete. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the kitchen drinking multiple beers to warm myself.” he announced.
“Good luck with that,” Will called back without looking, still focused on you. The music from the house swelled again as someone opened a door, laughter spilling out into the night. Will stretched his arms back behind him, bracing himself on the edge. “We should probably go back in before people start assuming things.”
You smiled, standing and grabbing your dress from where it was draped over a chair. “Let them assume.”
He stood too, water dripping down his chest as he grabbed his shirt. “You really don’t make it easy, you know that?”
You slipped your dress back on, smoothing it down, then looked up at him. “You already said that.”
He grinned. “Yeah. Just…confirming.”
11:34 AM
You don’t remember anything that happened after that. You recalled going back into the house, and doing two more shots with Ethan. You remember the faint blur of Macklin grabbing your hand and dragging you into the living room for a dance. You knew from the mouths of others that you disappeared to bed, along with many, around 3 AM– but you had no idea why you woke up in Luke’s closet. You had no idea who’s clothes you were wearing, when you stood up.
Luke, lying in his bed, read the oversized shirt you wore. “Will give head for olive garden breadsticks?” Dawson was asleep on the floor by the closet, Jack was bundled up next to Luke in the bed, and Nico was under the bed, bumping his head as he woke up. You didn’t know how you’d ended up in the New Jersey suite, and neither you, nor Jack, had a clue as to why you weren’t in your own beds. You tripped over Trevor when you walked into the bathroom.
“Why are you wearing my favorite shirt?” He asked, looking up from the floor. He claimed he got up to pee in the middle of the night, but he liked how the cold tile felt against his cheek, so he stayed. You glanced into your bedroom– Dixie on the twin bed, Macklin and Connor in your bed, and Cole on the carpet. Will was found on the couch in Jack’s room, with Ethan, Mark, and Rutger all asleep in Jack’s bed.
You stood in the hallway, alone, glancing around for a moment. “What the fuck”
╰┈➤ ˙⋆✮ masterlist ˙⋆✮ texting au masterlist ˙⋆✮join new taglist!!
summary: texting au where the reader is the sister of jack, luke, & quinn, texting connor bedard, will smith, & macklin celebrini
warnings!! cursing, reader being a homie hopper
a/n: heyy! ik i put the poll out, but it seems everyone wanted texts w/ all three guys. i've been going back n forth with these for a min, but i think i finally got the best i could do. lmk of any feeback!! love u all -mars
summary: pt. 7 of the groupchat au with reader & her brothers quinn, jack, and luke
warnings!! cursing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana
a/n: another part to the heavily requested hughes sister gc :) if you hadn't noticed, i've decided to move forward with pretending that the controversy does not exist in my fics bc everything i write has NOTHING to do with who these people are irl. however, this text string does emphasize the "close in age" bond she has w/ luke. hope u enjoy <3 -mars
DISCLAIMER: all of the characters in this story are only based on real people. every word i write is 100% fictional. the way i've written them does not reflect their actions in real life. if you'd like, you can read my thoughts on the hughes brothers controversey.
✰ pairings: macklin celebrini x!bsf!hughesreader
✰ summary: reader goes to comfort mack after her brothers win the olympic final
✰ warnings!! mentions of alcohol
✰ a/n: i started writing this right after i saw his poor little face during the medal ceremony :( anyways, hope you enjoy! -mars <3
divider creds: @pixopix
wc: 2.0k
After Jack Hughes scored the game winning goal to give America the Olympic gold, his mother, father, and younger sister jumped up and down in the stands. Tears of joy spread around the group, watching Jack and Quinn circle the ice together. Then, during the medal ceremony, when Quinn was presented with the gold, the camera panned back to the family. You can see his father proudly watching the screen, but little sister is now whispering something into mom’s ear. She’s still sitting there when Jack receives his medal, yet doesn’t look as excited as she did moments before. Then, minutes later, when the camera pans back to the family hugging Quinn and Jack, the sister is gone. Where did she go? Why isn’t she there congratulating her brothers? She misses the family photo. Cutting away, Sidney Crosby is now being interviewed outside the team Canada locker room, and who do we see in the back hugging Canadian player, Macklin Celebrini? Quinn and Jack Hughes’ little sister.
“Hey,” You said softly, making your way towards Macklin. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you. His eyes were red, watery, and you quickly noticed how the look on his face differed from his teammates. They looked angry, frustrated, mad at themselves– but Macklin looked sad, defeated, and empty. Almost like a child whose mother changed her mind after promising them a piece of candy if they got an A+ on a test. He parted his mouth slightly like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find a single word. When you stepped closer, standing less than a foot away, his bottom lip began to tremble. He looked down at the ground for just a moment before falling into you, wrapping his arms around your frame. Typically, the only time you and Macklin would hug was if you saw each other after a long time. It was always just a half-hug where he’d tower over you– but it was clear he didn’t want to tower, he wanted to be held. He dug his face into your neck as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tighter. The two of you stayed there for a while, at least two minutes. He didn’t want to let go, but he knew he had to.
He pulled back, sniffling, and blinked harshly a few times. “You should go have fun, and celebrate with your brothers. I don’t want to keep you here.” His voice was tired and rough, unlike his usual chippy tone. It nearly startled you.
You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheeks. “I don’t wanna leave you.”
His posture fell, brows lowering, eyes softening. “Please,” He whispered.
“No,” You said, voice quiet. Tears began welling in your eyes at the sight of your friend, who was typically a ball of sunshine, hurt to this extent. “Jack and Quinn have the whole world congratulating them. They have our parents with them to celebrate.” You looked around, glancing at the other players. You knew a good amount of them, and you knew how they’d act in a situation like this. They were older, more experienced– Then you looked at Macklin. He had such a fresh face, far younger than the others. Of course you knew it on paper, but you could really tell by the expressions on their faces compared to his. “I’m all you’ve got, and I want to stay.”
“You’re just saying that. You don’t get it-”
You held a finger in front of his face. “Stop,” He took a deep breath in, running a hand over his face. You spotted a bench a few feet away, and pulled Macklin by the hand to sit with you. His knee bumped yours as he finally rested, looking at you with those sad eyes again. You pouted just slightly. “My first time skating in the Olympics, two years ago, in Beijing, I got a bronze medal.” You cleared your throat, looking away for a moment. “Even though I had a medal, I still felt like a loser– A-And when I looked down at it, I was just reminded of the fact that it wasn’t gold.” Macklin rubbed his eye, avoiding your gaze. “But I couldn’t cry. Do you know why?”
He looked back over, chewing on his bottom lip. “Sasha Trusova?” You nodded your head, looking up at the ceiling.
“Yeah,” You swallowed. “S-She, uh- Well, you remember, she was very upset when she came in second. But…she had very uhm- valid reasoning.” Macklin nodded his head, now engaged in your story. “I was upset because I’m a sore loser. I wanted to cry because I didn’t win.”
“Valid.”
“Exactly,” You whispered. “But…I was the only one who cared that I didn’t win. My parents, my brothers- they were halfway across the world, and I wasn’t close with any of the other skaters. It was one of the worst kinds of pain I’ve ever felt, a-and it would break my heart to leave you, knowing that’s how you’ll feel when I go. It’s all I’ll be thinking about.” Macklin stared at you, the hallway noise fading into something distant and hollow. “Don’t say I don’t get it. Because if anyone in this arena gets it,” You leaned an inch closer. “It’s me.”
“You felt alone,” he said quietly.
You nodded once. “Yeah.”
He swallowed, shoulders rising with a shaky breath. “But I’ll be okay.”
“No, you won’t,” you replied, not harshly. “You know you won’t.” His jaw tightened, and he looked down at his hands, still gloved. His silver medal was somewhere behind him, hanging heavy around someone else’s neck for the cameras. He hadn’t even looked at it.
“You should hate me,” he muttered.
Your brows knit together. “For what?”
“For losing to your brothers, and then taking you away from their victory.”
You let out a soft exhale through your nose. “You didn’t lose to my brothers. Team Canada lost to Team USA– and you played incredibly, Mack. I could see how badly you wanted it, and it made me genuinely terrified for Jack and Quinn. I love them, but Hellebuyck is the only reason they had a chance.” He didn’t answer. His knee pressed against yours, grounding himself there, like if he shifted too far away he might float off into something worse. He huffed out something that almost resembled a laugh, but it died halfway through.
“Don’t,” he murmured. “Don’t try to make it lighter.”
“I’m not,” you said. “I’m being honest.” Macklin’s shoulders curved inward, elbows resting on his thighs. He stared at the floor between his skates.
“I was right there,” He said quietly. “The breakaway, I had it. I was a couple inches off.” His jaw flexed. “A couple inches.” You didn’t interrupt him. “I keep replaying it,” he continued. “If I’d taken the shot earlier, if I’d went high, if I’d just–” He stopped, teeth pressing into his bottom lip again. “I had the stupidest, most preventable collision. A collision that would’ve gotten my ass kicked in an NHL game, but I just got a pitiful pat on the back from the goalie. I had it all, lost it, and It costed us the game.”
“That’s not how this works,” you said.
“It is in my head.”
You shifted closer on the bench until your shoulder brushed his. He didn’t move away. “In Beijing,” you said softly, “after I skated off, I kept thinking about one jump. Just one. If I’d rotated it cleaner, or if I’d checked out of it instead of forcing the combo. I convinced myself that the entire podium was decided by that three seconds.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “It wasn’t,” you went on. “It was decided by years, by hundreds of things going right and wrong, by everyone else being just as desperate.” You tilted your head slightly. “You didn’t lose this game alone.” He stayed quiet. “You’re nineteen,” you whispered. “You just carried pressure most guys don’t see until they’re twenty seven. You were Canada’s hope tonight, and that doesn’t disappear because of one goal.”
His eyes flickered. “I wanted to prove that I could do it.”
“I know.”
He blinked, and a tear slipped free despite how hard he’d been fighting it. He looked almost annoyed at himself for it. “I hate that I care this much,” he said hoarsely.
You smiled sadly. “That’s the best thing about you,” His gaze softened again, exhaustion settling in. “It’s what we have in common, and it’s the reason we’ve gotten so close.”
He took off a glove to wipe his cheek. “Thank you,” He said quietly, and placed his hand on top of yours.
You intertwined your fingers with his, sending a tight squeeze. “How about,” You paused, a small smile on your face. “We go to my hotel room, order a fuck ton of pizza, and binge watch Traitors all night.”
Macklin tried to smile, and he almost did- but he quickly shook his head. “No, they’re gonna throw a big party to celebrate. You need to go.”
You looked at him, dumbfounded and disgusted. You scoffed. “Please, I would much rather hang out with you than throw back Michelob Ultras with Matthew and Brady Tkachuk. I already know I’m going to hate whatever’s going on at that party, so might as well be lame with you than be lame by myself.”
He looked down at your intertwined hands like he was trying to memorize the feeling of them there. “They’re going to ask where you are.”
“I’ll answer.”
“And say what?” he pressed quietly.
You shrugged. “That… they didn’t throw me a gold medal party, so I’m having one with you.” He swallowed at that. For a second, the hallway felt smaller, more intimate. Like the rest of the arena had peeled away and left just the two of you sitting there with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
“You shouldn’t miss this,” he said again, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it now.
“I’m not missing anything,” you replied. “I watched them win. I saw the goal.” You tilted your head at him. “The party is just noise.”
“And I’m not?” he asked, almost teasing.
“You’re the opposite.”
He looked at you for a long time, like he was trying to decide whether he deserved you sitting here, choosing him over champagne and flashing cameras. “You really don’t want to go?” he asked one last time.
You leaned back on the bench, exaggeratedly casual. “I’m not putting on heels and pretending I enjoy listening to J.T Miller man-splain the sport I grew up watching.”
Macklin let out a short, breathy laugh. It cracked halfway through, but it was real. “Okay,” he conceded quietly.
“Okay,” you echoed. He looked down at his medal again, finally pulling it forward from where it had been tucked away. The silver caught the light, dull compared to gold but still gleaming. He stared at it like it was something foreign.
“You know what the worst part is?” he murmured.
“What?”
“I was already imagining what it would feel like to win, like I could feel it in my hands. The weight of it.” His fingers tightened around the ribbon. “And now I have to go home with this.”
You squeezed his hand again. “Then let it hurt tonight.” His eyes lifted to yours. He studied you, something steadier settling behind his gaze.
“You’re not gonna look at me differently?” he asked.
“For losing?”
“For not being…enough.”
Your expression didn’t waver. “Mack, if anything, tonight just proved to me how much you are.” He looked away quickly, blinking hard.
“You’re making this worse,” he muttered.
“Good worse or bad worse?”
He hesitated. “…good worse.” You smiled gently. After a moment, he stood, pulling you up with him. For a second, you thought he might finally head toward the locker room– toward the interviews and the forced composure. Instead, he stepped closer. His hands hovered awkwardly before settling at your waist, tentative, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. You didn’t hesitate, sliding your arms around his neck. “Thank you for staying,” he whispered into your hair.
“You don’t ever have to ask me to,” you replied. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes still red but clearer now.
“Pizza?” he asked quietly.
“And Traitors,” you confirmed. He nodded once. With silver resting heavy against his chest, he walked down the opposite hallway with you– not toward the noise, but toward something quieter.
╰┈➤ ˙⋆✮ masterlist ˙⋆✮ lake house series ˙⋆✮join taglist!!
pairings: jack hughesx!femreader (main), luke hughesx!femreader, quinn hughesx!femreader, mentions of cole caufield & trevor zegras
summary: the story of how reader met the hughes brothers + why jack calls her "princess" [CRAZY LORE DROP]
warnings!! cursing, alcohol
a/n: hi lovlies! you guys have been begging for a back story since i started this series, so i decided to write individual "how she got her nickname" fics for each guy. this is the first!! just an update: i'm currently working on a pt. 2 to "party from hell" from my hughes sister series, and also a new luke fic. anyways, hope you enjoy this read <3 - mars
divider creds: @pixopix
wc: 4.2k
DISCLAIMER: all of the characters in this story are only based on real people. every word i write is 100% fictional. the way i've written them does not reflect their actions in real life. if you'd like, you can read my thoughts on the hughes brothers controversey.
You were just twelve, being dragged to yet another photoshoot by your mother. This one was new– a hockey game, opposed to the typical baseball or football game. You stood near the glass, your mother with her camera in a small cut-out hole as she photographed the players. It was also different from the rest because it was a youth team, and your mother typically shot professional sports. Not only were you dragged to a sports game, but you were dragged to a low-level, boring sports game.
“Mom, it’s freezing.” You whined.
Your mother never looked away from her camera. “It’s a hockey rink. I told you it would be cold.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Can we please go home? You’re not even getting paid for this. I’m not getting paid for this.”
“We’re not going home. I’m not doing this to get paid, I’m doing this to be a good friend to Ellen.” Your mother said, focusing her lens.
“This is the first time I’ve met Ellen. Why is she so important that I have to be dragged here?”
“Stop.” Your mother turned to you, hand on your shoulder. “She was one of my best friends in high school, and I’m doing this because she’s been a good friend to me in more ways than you know.” Your mother’s calm voice caused you to back down immediately. You sighed and let your breath fog against the glass. The chill bit at your fingers, even through your gloves. Your boots pressed against the rubber flooring that surrounded the rink, and you shifted from one foot to the other, trying to find some comfort. You turned and looked down the sideline where a group of parents was huddled near the benches, wrapped in puffy coats, sipping from steaming thermoses. One woman stood out– short, blonde hair, scarf wrapped around her neck, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. She didn’t cheer or clap, just watched the ice with an unreadable expression. You guessed that was Ellen. The buzzer blared, and the game ended. Parents clapped, kids slumped off the ice, and a few thumped each other on the back or dragged themselves toward the locker rooms.
“C’mon.” Your mother said, grabbing your hand before dragging you to where Ellen sat. You stumbled a little as your mom pulled you along, your boots slipping on the slick rubber floor. Ellen stood up as you approached, her eyes piercing, flicking over you first before landing on your mother.
“Kara,” she said, her voice smooth and low. “You made it.”
Your mother let go of your hand and stepped in for a hug. “Of course I did.” They hugged briefly, then pulled apart like people who once knew each other too well. Your mom turned to you. “This is Ellen. Ellen, this is my kid.”
Ellen’s gaze slid back to you, and she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Twelve, right?” she asked. You nodded. She studied you for a long moment, and you shifted under her stare. “You look just like Kara did when we were twelve,” she murmured. “It’s uncanny.” You didn’t know how to respond, so you said nothing. Then a door slammed open down the hallway, and the sound of clattering skates and rubber blades on the floor echoed through the hallway leading from the locker rooms. A few of the kids came out giggling, carrying their sticks, faces flushed. One of them smiled widely, speeding up as he stared at Ellen.
“Good job, Jack!” She exclaimed, reaching her arms out for a hug. He hugged her back before taking a spot next to her, catching sight of you and your mother. He stood with his helmet off, tucked under one arm, his wet hair sticking to his forehead. “This is my son,” Ellen said softly, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Jack, this is my friend Kara and her daughter.”
Jack smiled, sending over a small hand wave. “Hi, nice to meet you.” He said with the kind of awkwardness only a middle schooler could have.
“This is your oldest?” Your mom asked, looking at Ellen with a raised brow.
Ellen shook her head. “He’s in the middle. Just turned thirteen.”
Your mother’s brows raised, a smile growing on her face. “Oh! She’s in the middle, too!” Your mom pointed at you, and your face flushed instantly. You stared at your mom, silently begging her to stop. That weird parental habit of pointing out “fun facts” about you, like you were some kind of collectible card, was always humiliating.
Jack gave an awkward smile, his cheeks going a little pink. He shifted uncomfortably and offered a polite, “Cool,” before dropping his gaze to his skates. You nodded stiffly, feeling like you were both being presented for inspection.
Ellen turned back to your mom. “Why don’t you two come by for dinner tonight? It’ll be simple, nothing fancy. I’d love to catch up properly.”
Your mother lit up. “That sounds wonderful! We’d love to.” Your heart dropped. You opened your mouth to object, but Ellen was already placing a hand on your mom’s arm.
“I’d love for you guys to meet the rest of the family,” she said.
Ellen’s house was warm in that aggressively suburban way; too much heat, the faint smell of something simmering, and family photos lining the hallway like a shrine. Your jacket was off within seconds, gloves shoved into your pockets as you followed your mom inside.
“Shoes wherever,” Ellen called over her shoulder. “They’ll end up everywhere anyway.” A door banged open, another slammed shut, and someone shouted something unintelligible that ended in laughter.
Jack disappeared down the hallway, skates clutched in one hand, helmet dangling from the other. “I’m gonna shower!” he yelled, already halfway gone.
“Don’t use all the hot water!” Ellen called back. Before you could process anything else, two boys came barreling down the stairs– one taller, broad-shouldered, and the other smaller, skinnier, with a sharp grin and a hyperactive energy that made you instinctively step back. They skidded to a stop at the bottom step.
“Mom,” the taller one said, calm and curious. His eyes flicked from Ellen to your mother to you, lingering just a second longer than necessary. “Who’s this?”
Ellen didn’t answer right away. She was shrugging out of her coat, hanging it on the rack by the door, like nothing unusual had just appeared in the middle of her house. “This is Kara,” she said, nodding toward your mom. “We went to school together.” Then she gestured to you. “And this is her daughter.” Both boys looked at you again.
The taller one studied you openly now, head tilting slightly. He looked older, maybe fourteen or fifteen. Broad shoulders, messy dark hair, the kind of calm presence that made the smaller boy beside him seem even more chaotic.
The smaller one leaned forward, squinting like he was examining something interesting. “Are you staying for dinner?” he asked immediately.
“Yes,” your mom answered before you could say anything.
The smaller boy grinned. “Nice. I’m Luke.” He stuck his hand out dramatically like he was introducing himself on a game show. You hesitated, then shook it. His hand was warm and quick, shaking yours twice before letting go.
“I’m Quinn,” The taller boy said. His voice was quieter than Luke’s, but steadier. He didn’t offer his hand, just gave a small nod. Your mom was already chatting with Ellen again, their conversation sliding quickly into half-finished sentences and shared memories.
“Remember John Benson?”
“Oh my god, yes!”
“You dated him for like two weeks.”
“It was one week, Kara!”
Luke leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice. “They’re gonna do this for a while,” he said. Quinn gave a faint smirk. You glanced back at the kitchen. Your mom was mid-story now, hands flying around while Ellen shook her head and laughed. Your shoulders sagged.
Luke noticed immediately. “You bored already?”
“I’ve been bored since we got here,” you muttered.
That earned a grin from him. “Well,” Luke said, rocking back on his heels, “you could come to my room.” Quinn immediately turned his head toward him.
“Luke.”
“What?” Luke said innocently.
Quinn looked back at you. “He means the basement.”
Luke threw his hands up. “Same thing!”
“It’s not the same thing,” Quinn said flatly.
You looked between them, suspicious. “What’s in the basement?”
“Everything.”
“There’s a mini net,” Quinn explained calmly. “And an air hockey table, and a TV.”
Luke cut in. “And the Xbox.”
You stared at them for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine.”
Luke pumped his fist like he’d just scored a goal. “Let’s go!” Before Quinn could protest, Luke grabbed your sleeve and started dragging you toward a door at the end of the hallway.
“Luke,” Quinn said.
Luke turned. “What?”
“Don’t break anything.”
“I never break anything.” Quinn rolled his eyes. Luke shoved the basement door open and jogged halfway down the stairs before realizing you weren’t moving. You stood at the top step, peering down into the dim basement like it might swallow you whole.
“Relax,” Luke called up. “It’s not a dungeon.”
You stepped down the stairs slowly, gripping the railing as the sound of your movements echoed on the wooden steps. The basement opened into a big, messy hangout space. Hockey sticks leaned against the wall, a net sat crookedly in one corner, and the air hockey table looked like it had survived several small wars. In the middle of the room, Luke grabbed a puck and tossed it in the air.
“You ever played?” he asked, and you shook your head. “You’ve never played hockey?”
“No.”
“You ever tried?”
“Nope.”
Luke blinked at you like that answer alone was offensive. “Not even once?”
You shook your head again, crossing your arms. “I don’t see the appeal. It’s just…cold and loud and people slamming into each other for no reason.”
Luke let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “No reason? There’s tons of reasons.” He nudged the puck across the floor with his foot, then scooped up a stick and tossed another one toward you. You barely caught it, fumbling with the unfamiliar weight. “Here, try.”
“I just said I don’t-”
“Try,” he repeated, more insistent this time, already dragging the small net into place with a screech across the concrete floor.
Quinn had followed you down at some point, quieter than both of you, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He didn’t interrupt, just watched, eyes flicking between you and Luke with a kind of measured patience, waiting to see how this would go.
You sighed, gripping the stick awkwardly. “If I break something, I’m blaming you.”
“You won’t break anything,” Luke said quickly, grinning again. “Probably.”
“That doesn't make me feel any better.”
“Just hit it.”
You tapped the puck lightly, and it slid a few inches. Luke groaned dramatically. “No, not like that. You gotta actually hit it.” You glared at him, biting the inside of your cheek as you strangled the stick in your hands. The three of you turned your heads when you heard the stairs creak. Jack descended the steps grinning, sporting a grey hoodie, and scrunching his wet hair into short waves.
“You’re just a horrible teacher, Lukey,” He said, hopping off the final step. Luke’s cheeks instantly flushed with embarrassment. “Here, let me show you.” Jack stepped behind you before you could react, reaching around to adjust your grip on the stick. His hands were quick, sure, like he’d done this a hundred times. “Lower. Like this.”
You stiffened. “I can do it myself.”
“Yeah, but you’re not,” he shot back. “Don’t be such a princess.”
“Jack,” Quinn chimed in, nodding at Jack to read the room.
He rolled his eyes, letting go and stepping back. “Now try.”
You scoffed but swung a little harder this time. The puck shot forward, clattering weakly against the side of the net instead of going in.
Luke’s eyes widened. “Okay, that was…less terrible.”
You glanced at him. “Wow. Kind words.” Quinn huffed a quiet laugh from the wall.
Jack ignored both of them and grabbed another puck. “Again,” The next shot was better, still off, but faster. You adjusted your grip slightly without thinking. “There you go,” Jack said with a sly grin. “See? You’re a natural when given the right instructions.”
You rolled your eyes, adjusting your grip again. “Don’t act like you just trained me from scratch.”
“I mean…” he shrugged, “I kind of did.”
Luke made a face. “Yeah, after I started teaching her.”
“You told her to ‘just hit it,’” Jack shot back.
“That is teaching.”
Quinn exhaled quietly through his nose, shaking his head as he stepped closer. “You’re both terrible at it.”
You huffed a small laugh before you could stop yourself, glancing between them. “You guys argue like this all the time?”
“Only when he’s wrong,” Jack said immediately.
Luke scoffed. “I’m never wrong.”
Quinn didn’t even look at them. “You’re wrong right now.”
Luke opened his mouth, then paused, like he didn’t actually have a comeback ready. “Okay, that doesn’t count.”
You smiled a little at that, then looked back down at the puck. “So what, I just keep going?”
“Yeah,” Jack said, leaning casually against the edge of the air hockey table. “You’ll get better faster if you don’t overthink it.”
Luke pointed at the net. “Aim for the corners. Makes it harder.”
Quinn added, “And stop gripping the stick so tight. You look like you’re trying to strangle it.”
You loosened your hands slightly. “You’re all very bossy.”
“And yet,” Luke said, gesturing dramatically, “you’re getting better.” You took another shot. It went wide this time, sliding past the net and bumping into the wall. “Wow, huge improvement.”
You shot him a look. “I hate you.”
Jack laughed under his breath, pushing himself off the table. “Here,” He nudged the puck back toward you with his foot. “Again.”
You tried again. This time it clipped the edge of the net and went in.
“There it is,” Quinn said, giving a small nod.
You couldn’t help the tiny flicker of satisfaction that came with it. “Okay…that one was intentional.”
“Sure it was,” Luke said.
“It was!”
Jack smirked. “We’ll believe you when you do it twice.” You narrowed your eyes at him, immediately lining up another shot.
“You’re competitive,” Quinn observed.
“She’s trying to prove a point,” Jack corrected.
“Same thing,” Quinn said. You swung and completely missed.
Luke burst out laughing. “Oh, that was bad.”
“Okay, shut up,” you muttered, but you were laughing a little too.
Jack shook his head, still smiling. “You were doing better when you weren’t trying so hard.”
You groaned, dropping the stick slightly. “This is why I don’t play sports.”
“Give it, like, ten minutes,” Luke said. “You’ll be obsessed.”
“I doubt it.”
Jack glanced at you, something a little more curious in his expression now. “You say that now.”
The morning after dinner, you and your mom flew back to New York. Your sisters never wanted to go with Mom on work trips, so the first thing you did was brag to them about the boys you met.
“Sounds like there’s one for each of us.” Your teenage older sister, Evangeline, said.
“Ew, no.” Your ten year-old sister, Ayla, pretended to gag. “I would never date a hockey player. They have missing teeth.”
You rolled your eyes. “These guys had all of their teeth. They were cute! We could have a joint wedding, like, three sisters marrying three brothers? It would be magical.”
Evangeline smiled. “Yeah- Ayla gets the crazy little one, you get the cocky one with the good looks, and I get the tall, quiet one who just stands in the corner.”
You furrowed your brows, leaning back slightly. “What, no- I want the tall, quiet one who stood in the corner.”
You always remembered the way they looked at you like you were mentally insane.
You didn’t see the Hughes brothers again for another two years. It was during the summer of 2016. Evangeline was going on a summer-long trip with her friends before college, Ayla started at a sleep-away music camp, and your mom had several photoshoots planned across the country. Your mom didn’t want you staying at the house with your dad, considering he’d just come home for work and not want to leave the house afterward, so she called Ellen. She knew that Ellen and her husband owned a lake house in Michigan, where they’d spend the entire summer, so they made plans for you to go with them this year. You were reluctant at first, wanting to stay home and hang out with your friends, but your mother insisted.
The car ride felt longer than it actually was. Somewhere between leaving the airport and getting closer to the lake, the scenery changed. Less city, more trees, more open sky. Everything felt quieter in a way that made your thoughts louder. You kept your headphones in most of the time, even when nothing was playing. When you finally pulled into the driveway, your stomach did that weird drop thing. The house was bigger than you expected. Not huge, but open, and lived-in. There were bikes leaning against the side, a couple of hockey sticks tossed near the porch like they’d just been dropped there without a second thought. Before you could fully process being there, the front door opened. Jack appeared, leaning against the doorframe like he’d been there long, just watching. He’d changed– taller, shoulders broader, features a little sharper than you remembered.
“Hey,” he said, casually.
“Hi,” you replied, trying to sound just as normal. There was a brief second where neither of you said anything else, and then Quinn stepped out behind him. Still the same quiet presence, just older, more settled into it.
“You made it,” he said simply.
You nodded. “Yeah.” Your mom was already getting out of the car, calling out to Ellen, who was coming around the side of the house with a bright smile like no time had passed at all. You grabbed your bag from the trunk, slinging it over your shoulder.
Quinn immediately reached for it. “You’re not carrying that.”
“I can carry my own bag.”
“Yeah, but I’m already taking it.” He pulled it away before you could argue, heading toward the house like it was already decided.
You watched him go, then looked back at Jack. He smirked slightly. “You want me to grab the other one?”
You shrugged. “I mean, if it’s on the table.”
He took your other bag, smirking. “Alright, princess.” He mumbled sarcastically.
You rolled your eyes, but kept a smile. “I am not a princess. I can carry my bag.”
“I’m sure.” He began heading inside, your bag in his hand.
You remember that first summer so vividly because it was the first of many. Yet, it was vastly different from the summers that would follow. When you and Jack started talking in your room after you set down your bags, his personality was an instant match for yours. From that moment on, you were tied at the hip. He followed you around like a lost puppy all summer, never wanting you to stray too far. He listened to you tell stories about all of your friends, eager to meet them someday. You’d go on for hours about all the things you liked and disliked, and he’d always listen. He loved the way you talked- your mannerisms, your humor. He loved the way he could tell you about his hopes and dreams, and you’d always respond with, “I think you can do whatever you want, as long as you want it more than anyone else does.”
Luke was nothing like how you remembered him. He would never talk too much. He’d always get flustered when you started a conversation, like he wasn’t sure if you were talking to him or a ghost. Quinn had already caught your eye the first time you’d met him, but your feelings intensified when you realized that he wasn’t like Jack. He was no extrovert; he was humble, quiet. Where Jack was all boyish charm and loud affection, Quinn was steady. He noticed things, like the way you fiddled with your sleeves when you were cold, or how you always checked your camera battery twice, just in case. He’d slip a blanket over your shoulders without a word, or slide your favorite snack your way at dinner before you even asked– but Jack didn’t like to share. He’d sense your attention drifting, eyes flicking toward Quinn or lingering a little too long on a laugh that wasn’t his, and suddenly he was dragging you upstairs.
“C’mon,” he’d mutter, lacing his fingers with yours like a lifeline. “I wanna show you this new game.” And you'd go, because it was Jack. Because when he looked at you like that, like you were the only one who got it, you couldn’t say no.
You went back again the next summer, but it was different than the last. That year, Jack brought his friends from hockey camp, Trevor and Cole. They took over your room, but Jack slept there with them on an air mattress. He insisted you take his room, wanting to appear as a gentleman. You weren’t close with Cole or Trevor like you were with Jack. They were far too immature for your liking, and you felt like they imposed on your summer. It almost felt as if Jack was hiding you from them, and whenever they’d come around, he’d just toss you over to his brothers. That was also the summer you really picked up photography, and you were grateful for the time you had to practice– but it still stung. You ended up spending much more time with Ellen than with anyone else.
You debated coming back the next year because of it, but Jack begged. He promised that he’d be more inclusive if you did– and he was, but he wished he hadn’t been. He wished he’d let you stay home that summer, and that the two of you could’ve found another way to spend time together. He was fine with you acting friendly with Cole and Trevor. He thought it was funny when you and Trevor would make fun of each other, or bicker like long-lost siblings. He enjoyed how you and Cole brought out each other’s silly yet confident sides through dance battles or karaoke. He liked that you could be friends with his friends, and that nothing felt weird about it. In your own head, you still deem that year “The best summer ever”, and so did he.
The next year, Jack started to have regrets. You were 17, and you had visibly changed. Everyone knew it except for you, and it killed Jack’s ego. He hated how everyone would look at you when you walked into a room, because he used to be the only one who looked. Trevor also hated it, but that’s because you took attention away from him.
The party they threw that year was definitely a new experience. You were always someone who hid behind the camera, never thrown into the mix with all the ‘cool kids’. You flourished in this new environment seamlessly, and it couldn’t have bothered Jack more. This was his scene, his life, and you were his escape. Now his so-called ‘escape’ was playing flip cup with a 6’0 tall Trevor Zegras and a shamelessly flirty Cole Caufield. Two people you couldn’t stand a couple of years ago. You drank cup after cup, growing more confident with each sip, eating up every ounce of attention you were given. You felt free for the first time in your life, and it pissed him off. Jack was especially unhappy when a game of spin the bottle had your lips smashed onto Quinn’s, causing him to retreat to some random girl he’d never seen. You looked around for him when the game was over, but you were only met with disappointment. Jack was already halfway across the room, his hand pressed low against the back of a blonde you didn’t recognize. She was laughing too loudly at something he hadn’t said, clinging to him like static. He didn’t look back at you once. An hour later, you searched for him, determined to find the best friend you knew. You found him sitting on the railing of the porch, hoodie pulled over his head, that same girl nowhere in sight. His eyes were glassy, bottle in hand, staring out at the lake.
“You ran off,” you said, voice calm.
“You kissed my brother.”
“Oh, so now I’m your property?” He never answered, he just scoffed and called it a night.
Of course, you and Jack remained friends– but nothing was ever the same after that night. The teasing nickname “Princess” grew far more popular in Jack’s vocabulary, to the point where you were unsure if he even remembered your real name. He hid every true thought he had about you behind his ego, and you were too stubborn to stop him. Both of you would faintly remember a time when you were the closest pair in the house, but not often enough to ever bring it up to one another. The close bond you shared would forever stay, but it was quieter now, almost watered down. However, the small moments when it was just the two of you, it felt as if nothing had changed– but he’d always fuck it up later. He never had the courage to choose you over his own image.
╰┈➤ ˙⋆✮ masterlist ˙⋆✮ texting au masterlist ˙⋆✮join new taglist!!
summary: !brock faber, will smith, & macklin celebrini mentioned! groupchat au with the reader & her brothers quinn, jack, and luke
warnings!! cursing, mentions of alcohol
a/n: i wanted to do another one of these since they're sooo fun to make. this one is a lot of reader and luke ganging up on quinn loll anyways, hope u enjoy! <3 - mars
pairings: luke hughes x!femreader
summary: !fluff! !hookup to lovers! reader is on her period, and forgets about the plans she made until they show up at her bedside
warnings!! hookup culture, cursing, period? idk, mentions of rob from love island
a/n: i'm back! sry guys i've been so dry in the creative thinking department lately, and i have no idea what to write. this was an unfinished fic that i started well over a year ago lol. anyways, happy reading & love u all <3
wc: 1.9k
The bright city lights of Manhattan burned your eyes, and only worsened your pounding headache as you buried yourself further into your bed. You were lying in fetal position, a heating pad on your stomach, and an empty bottle of Advil sitting next to you. Love Island played on your tv, yet you were too tired to turn your head to face it. Instead, you entertained yourself with mindless Tiktoks after putting your phone on ‘do not disturb’, wanting to ignore any problems that could occur during the worst week of your life. Your periods were never this bad, and you couldn’t explain why this one was. Your cramps were worse than ever, and you could only describe them as “being stabbed in the uterus with a kitchen knife over, and over, and over again”. You put your phone down when your headache finally died down enough to let your eyes rest. The clock read 12:15 AM as your eyes fluttered shut. The cold air from the ceiling fan caused you to pull the covers closer, bundling yourself up as you scrunched your legs further into your stomach. Your mind finally drifted off to sleep, yet not a deep one. You were still aware of your surroundings, and the sounds from the TV began to blend into your dreams.
45 minutes had passed, maybe an hour, when you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. It startled you awake, not expecting anyone to be in your apartment this late. You slowly lifted your eyelids, looking up to see a tall, curly headed boy standing next to your bed. His hair poked out of his cap in the back, and a wave of his cologne was sent straight to your nostrils as he bent down to your eye level. His hands rested on the edge of your bed, almost as if he was scared to reach out and touch you.
“I-uh,” He cleared his throat, clearly unsure of what to say. “We had plans for tonight on my calendar?” Shit.
You had completely forgotten about Luke. Luke Hughes, the hockey player you’d met at a bar a couple months ago and were immediately infatuated with. The two of you hooked up the first night you met, and the next morning you went to breakfast together. That breakfast held the only real conversations you’d ever had with him. You both agreed to be exclusive hookup buddies, nothing less, nothing more. He traveled so much for work, and you were far too hyper-independent for a boyfriend, so you both decided to meet at your apartment at least twice a week for a ‘no strings attached’ hookup. You wouldn’t say it was something you were proud of, but it was exclusive, and he is a professional hockey player.
You palmed your face, shutting your eyes as you scrunched your nose. You began to slowly lift yourself into a sitting position, but you were quickly brought back down by the pain in your stomach. Luke’s brows furrowed immediately, the cocky half-smile he normally wore replaced by something closer to concern.
“Whoa, hey- are you okay?” he asked, voice softer now, like he was afraid he’d break you just by speaking too loud.
You flopped back onto the pillow with a groan, one arm draping dramatically over your eyes. “Not even a little bit,” you mumbled. “I feel like I’m dying. Like actually dying. A World War is happening in my uterus.” There was a pause. You didn’t open your eyes, but you could feel him still crouched there beside you, his cologne still hanging in the air; woodsy, clean, and completely out of place in your dim, bed rot cave.
“Period?” he asked, tentative.
You moved your arm just enough to peek one eye open. “Ding ding ding, give the boy a prize.”
Luke let out a short breath, almost a laugh, and then stood up, glancing around your room like he was looking for something, anything to make the situation less awkward. “Shit. I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve texted before I came.”
You shrugged weakly. “It’s whatever. I literally turned my phone off. I wasn’t exactly planning to fuck you between cramps and Love Island reruns.”
His eyes flicked to the TV for a second. “Season six?” he asked.
You blinked at him. “You watch Love Island?”
Luke just gave you a sheepish little shrug, the brim of his cap dipping as he looked down. “Rob’s a menace. Gotta respect it.”
You let out a quiet laugh, sniffling to try and fill the awkward silence. You looked away from Luke for just a moment, but you could feel his pity-filled expression weighing on you.
“Hey, I'm sorry,” You said with a half smile as you lifted yourself to sit with your back against the headboard. “You know, you came all this way for nothing.”
His head cocked to the side slightly, his hands raising in the air as he shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, I don’t care about a little blood-”
“I do.” You cut him off, a pissed-off expression wiping across your face. He backed up slightly, moving his hands behind his back like a child trying to play innocent. “Just-” You paused, letting out a sigh. “Let’s rain check tonight. You can come over three times next week to make up for it.” You smiled softly. “I’ll see you then.” You said just before reaching over to grab your water from your nightstand, but your hands were shaking and another cramp hit, sending you back to the bed.
Luke didn’t move. Not right away, at least. He just stood there, watching you with an unreadable expression, his jaw tight like he was trying to decide whether or not to say something. When your body curled in on itself again, a quiet whimper slipping out despite your best effort to be strong, he stepped forward.
“I’m not leaving you like this,” he said, and this time there was no hesitation in his voice.
You scoffed, managing to pull the cup of water to your mouth. “Please Luke, don’t be dramatic-” Before you could say another word, he placed his duffel bag on the floor, pulling out a bottle of Advil. Your mouth dropped open slightly out of shock as he tossed the bottle at you, took off his shirt, and jumped into the bed next to you. Luke’s presence shifted the atmosphere in the room, not in the usual charged way, but something gentler. Steadier. His warmth practically radiated through the covers as he settled beside you, not touching, not pushing, just there. Shirtless, sure, but not with the intent that usually came with it. He lay on top of the blankets, propped on an elbow, watching the screen where some poor Love Island girl was being blindsided with a recoupling.
You held the Advil bottle in your lap, blinking at it. “Where the hell did that come from?” you muttered.
Luke looked over, clearly proud of himself. “I travel with it. You try playing three games in four nights and not needing painkillers.” You popped the bottle open with a sigh, dry swallowing two more even though you weren’t sure if the last dose had even kicked in. Luke didn’t say anything, just reached over to your nightstand and swapped your mostly empty water bottle with the full one he found behind it. The TV played on, muted drama filling the background while neither of you spoke. You weren’t used to this. Luke was usually all cocky grins and hands on your hips before the door even clicked shut. Now? He was lying still beside you, careful like you might crack open if he breathed too loudly.
“You don’t have to stay,” you murmured, voice small against the drone of your fan. “Really.” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you for a long second. You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and realized, with a strange twist in your chest, that there wasn’t an ounce of the usual charming asshole mask on his face.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.” Your breath caught. Not in a romantic way, more in a what the fuck are we doing way. This wasn’t part of the deal. You were supposed to be a stop on his schedule, not a person who mattered. Luke laid down fully on his back, arms behind his head as he stared at your popcorn ceiling. “When I get benched with an injury,” he said, suddenly, “they give us these hot pads. Like mini electric ones. You get one for the lower back, one for the hamstring. Stuff helps.”
You hummed. “So what you’re saying is…you know how it feels to bleed out of your vagina every month?”
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I’m saying…maybe next time, I’ll bring you the good stuff from the trainer’s room.”
You paused, staring at him. “You’re planning on there being a next time?”
His gaze slid sideways to meet yours again. “I’m here, aren’t I?” The weight of that answer settled over you like an extra blanket. Your throat tightened, and you looked away, suddenly unsure what to do with this version of him. Luke reached forward suddenly, plucked the heating pad’s cord from the edge of the bed, and adjusted it gently across your lower stomach, his knuckles grazing your skin. “Better?” he asked, quietly. You nodded, and he smiled, not his usual cocky grin. Something smaller. Then, as if the air had gotten too honest, too fragile, he reached for the remote. “So…are we rooting for Leah and Miguel, or what?”
You laughed despite yourself, nestling deeper into the warmth of the pad, the blankets, and, somehow, his nearness. This wasn’t what either of you signed up for, but neither of you moved. Your body began to relax, slowly, tenderly, as the heating pad started doing its job. Your cramps dulled from knife-stabs to aching thumps, still awful, but manageable. Your eyes fluttered closed and opened again, drifting in and out of that shallow sleep. Then you felt it. Not hands, not heat, just a shift in the mattress. Luke’s weight dipped closer, and a moment later, something warm pressed against your back. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask, but his arm came around you; not tight, not possessive, just there. His hand resting above your hip, his forearm careful not to press too hard into your abdomen. His chest close enough to feel his breath at your neck, but not so close you couldn’t move away if you wanted. You didn’t.
“You’re not a cuddler,” you whispered after a moment, voice low, uncertain.
“I’m not,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your shoulder. “You looked cold.”
You swallowed. “I am cold.” He shifted closer, just a little, and pulled the blanket up over both of you like he belonged there. Like he’d done this before, like this wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep in a stranger’s bed and decided to stay. Except he hadn’t done this before. Not with you, not with anyone, you suspected. You laid there, the warmth of his body sinking into your spine, and something about it felt dangerously comforting.
“I’m bleeding,” you said flatly, a last-ditch reminder to him. To yourself. “Like, aggressively.”
Luke huffed a small laugh into the back of your neck. “Okay.”
“On my sheets.”
“Okay.”
You hesitated, then turned your head just enough to catch his eyes. “You’re kind of a weirdo, you know that?”
His mouth quirked at the corner. “Takes one to know one.” You stared at each other for a second too long, then you turned back toward the TV. Your body finally stopped fighting itself long enough to rest. Luke’s breathing slowed behind you, steady and rhythmic, his hand still draped lightly over your waist. You weren’t sure when you drifted off, but you knew it was the deepest sleep you’d had in days.
