You should’ve known something was wrong when Luke texted you:
LUKE: Date night tonight. Just us.
The emphasis on just us should’ve been your first warning sign.
You were ten minutes into the date,ten,when Jack ruined everything.
You and Luke were sitting at a small corner table in a quiet restaurant, the kind with dim lighting and soft music. Luke looked nervous in a way you found painfully cute, fiddling with his napkin, glancing at you like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.
“This place is nice,” you said, smiling.
Luke relaxed a little. “Yeah? I wanted something calm.”
“Mission accomplished,” you teased.
He grinned. “Good. Because I,”
“LUKE!”
The voice echoed through the restaurant like a fire alarm.
You froze.
Luke physically flinched.
Slowly, both of you turned.
Jack stood at the entrance, hands on his hips, eyes wide like he’d just discovered buried treasure.
“Oh my god,” Jack said loudly. “You are here.”
Luke closed his eyes. “No.”
You blinked. “Is that,”
“Yes,” Luke muttered. “That’s Jack.”
Jack marched over, pulling out the chair opposite you and sitting down without asking. “This is crazy. I was just walking by and thought, ‘Wow, that guy looks like Luke Hughes but less attractive.’ And then I realized,it was Luke Hughes.”
Luke stared at him. “Why are you here.”
Jack shrugged. “I’m hungry.”
“You live ten minutes away.”
“And yet,” Jack said smugly, “here I am.”
You bit your lip to keep from laughing.
Luke noticed. “Don’t encourage him.”
Jack leaned toward you. “She likes me. I can tell.”
“She tolerates you,” Luke corrected.
Jack waved him off. “Same thing.”
The waitress arrived, looking confused. “Um… is he joining you?”
“No,” Luke said instantly.
“Yes,” Jack said at the same time.
You smiled politely. “He’s… emotionally joining us.”
Jack snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”
Luke leaned back in his chair, exasperated. “Jack, go away.”
Jack gasped. “Wow. Rude. In front of your girlfriend too.”
You tilted your head. “You third-wheel a lot, don’t you?”
Jack grinned. “It’s a gift.”
Luke groaned. “It’s a curse.”
Jack pointed at Luke. “He pretends he hates it, but if I stopped, he’d miss me.”
Luke shot him a look. “I absolutely would not.”
“Liar,” Jack said. “You’d text me within a week.”
You laughed. Luke turned red. “Okay, this was supposed to be romantic.”
Jack nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah… I sensed that. That’s why I came.”
Luke stared. “You came because of that?”
“Obviously.”
You covered your mouth. “You’re evil.”
Jack beamed. “Thank you.”
Somehow, despite Luke’s best efforts, Jack stayed. He ordered food. He stole fries. He told embarrassing childhood stories. Luke spent most of the dinner glaring at him while you laughed so hard your sides hurt.
By the time you left the restaurant, Luke was halfway to dramatic resignation.
“Okay,” Luke said firmly as you stepped outside. “Jack. We’re going home. Separately.”
Jack blinked. “What? No. I’m bored.”
Luke pointed down the street. “Your apartment is literally that way.”
Jack squinted. “I don’t like that direction.”
You laughed. “Luke, just let him walk with us.”
Luke turned to you, betrayed. “You too?”
“I’m sorry,” you said sweetly. “He’s kind of entertaining.”
Jack fist-pumped. “YES.”
Luke sighed. “I need new brothers.”
You walked a few blocks together, the city lights glowing around you. Luke tried to hold your hand.
Jack immediately wedged himself between you.
“Oh my god,” Luke snapped. “MOVE.”
“What?” Jack said innocently. “I’m just existing.”
“You’re aggressively existing.”
Jack slung an arm around Luke’s shoulders. “See? We’re bonding.”
Luke shoved him off. “You’re ruining the vibe.”
Jack shrugged. “The vibe is overrated.”
You reached around Jack and grabbed Luke’s hand anyway. Luke squeezed back immediately, like he’d been waiting for it.
Jack looked down. “Wow. Disrespectful.”
Luke smirked. “Good.”
You stopped walking suddenly. “Jack.”
He looked at you. “Yeah?”
“Do you do this on purpose?”
Jack considered it. “Yes.”
Luke groaned. “WHY.”
Jack smiled. “Because you’re different with her.”
Luke frowned. “Different how?”
“You’re soft,” Jack said simply. “And it’s annoying.”
You raised your eyebrows. Luke stared at him.
“That’s… not an insult,” Luke said.
Jack shrugged. “Didn’t say it was.”
You smiled. “He’s protective.”
“Disgustingly so,” Jack agreed. “You should see him when she’s late replying.”
Luke turned red. “Stop.”
Jack ignored him. “He paces. Like a dad.”
Luke pointed at him. “You are never telling anyone that.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely telling everyone.”
By the time you reached your apartment, Luke looked exhausted.
“Okay,” Luke said, opening the door. “Jack. This is where you leave.”
Jack stepped inside. “Wow. Cozy.”
Luke froze. “Why are you inside.”
Jack shrugged. “I assumed I was invited.”
“You were not.”
You laughed, toeing off your shoes. “Jack, you want a drink?”
Luke whipped his head toward you. “NO.”
Jack gasped. “She wants me here.”
Luke stared at you, betrayed all over again. “You’re enjoying this.”
You smiled. “Just a little.”
Jack plopped onto the couch. “So. How long have you two been disgustingly in love?”
Luke crossed his arms. “We’re not,”
“Six months,” you said.
Luke blinked. “Why did you answer that.”
Jack nodded. “Knew it.”
Luke ran a hand through his hair. “Jack, please. I just wanted one night. One.”
Jack looked at him, expression softening just slightly. “You’ll get it.”
“When?” Luke asked.
“Eventually,” Jack said. “Probably when I get a girlfriend.”
You tilted your head. “And when will that be?”
Jack shrugged. “Never. I thrive on chaos.”
Luke dropped onto the couch beside you, defeated. “I hate you.”
Jack smiled. “Love you too.”
There was a pause.
Then Jack stood. “Alright. I’ll go.”
Luke looked up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I’ve done enough damage for one night.”
You smiled. “Thank you.”
Jack grinned. “Anytime.”
He headed for the door, then paused. “Oh,and Luke?”
Luke sighed. “What.”
“You’re lucky,” Jack said. “Don’t mess it up.”
Luke blinked, caught off guard. “I won’t.”
Jack nodded, satisfied, and left.
The door closed.
Silence.
Luke leaned back, rubbing his face. “I’m so sorry.”
You laughed, turning toward him. “That was the most chaotic date I’ve ever been on.”
“And?”
“And I kind of loved it.”
He smiled weakly. “You’re insane.”
You leaned in, kissing him softly. “But I’m yours.”
Luke melted instantly, hands pulling you closer. “Worth every interruption.”
You rested your forehead against his. “Even Jack?”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
requested: yes | req: i love your angst! i was wondering if you could do maybe like a bad argument between them with lucy around? maybe like they didn’t realize they were starting to yell and she wakes up all scared. i feel like luke’s definitely the type to be overly friendly with an ex/fwb because he’s just a friendly guy. or maybe he’s gone out with his friends and reader caught him a bit too cuddled up with another girl. food for thought if you want to use it☺️
pair: dad!luke hughes x mom!reader.
genre: heavy angst, hurt, comfort, family drama, happy ending.
warnings: intense marital argument, brief yelling in the house while child is present (unintentional), emotional distress, insecurities, mention of online hate toward reader, fear of separation/divorce, crying child, alcohol is not central but mentioned, very raw emotions.
summary: you and luke swore that once lucy was born you would never fight in front of her. for four years you kept that promise. until the day a blurry instagram story showed luke at a ‘boys’ lunch’ sitting thigh-to-thigh with his ex-girlfriend, arm draped behind her chair like nothing had changed since college. when you confront him, the conversation turns into the worst fight you’ve ever had, a loud, ugly, and unfortunately loud enough to wake your daughter from her nap. you walk out. luke stays. and lucy, your brilliant, heartbreakingly perceptive four-year-old, starts asking the question no parent ever wants to hear ‘did you stop loving mommy?’.
fia’s note: sorry to anyone actually named lauren, i didn’t mean anything by using that name, but it just fit the story. i hope everyone enjoys this little angsty piece for dad!luke. i really appreciate every single comment, truly. and if you ever want to yap, i’m always open and absolutely loving that too!! I MISS YAPPING!!! also thank you for 600 followers!! love you all very much 🫶🫶
tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka @silvenyy @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @ruinix @when-im-with-you
fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | yap & fic
You used to love the way Luke was kind to everyone.
It was the first thing that made you fall for him, especially how he never let an awkward silence linger when someone felt left out. That kindness was the reason you felt safe building a life with him. Safe enough to marry him, safe enough to have Lucy when half the internet called you a ‘puck bunny who trapped him.’
Today that same kindness feels like a blade between your ribs.
Luke kissed you both goodbye at 11:17 a.m., told you he was grabbing lunch with ‘the boys’ after morning skate. You waved from the doorway, Lucy on your hip waving her little stuffed moose, shouting,
“Bye Snoopy! Bring me french fries!”
He came home at 3:42 p.m., Lucy was down for her nap. You were curled on your side of the bed scrolling absent-mindedly while Luke stretched out beside you, thumb rubbing slow circles on your ankle like nothing was wrong.
Then you opened Instagram.
A mutual friend, someone who went to Michigan with them had posted a story from the restaurant. The video was shaky, music loud, but the camera panned across the table and there he was.
Your husband.
Wedged onto a banquet seat between Nico and Luke ex-girlfriend Lauren.
His left arm was stretched along the back of the booth behind her shoulders. Her head was tilted toward him, laughing at something he’d just said. His right hand held a beer, but the way his fingers curled loosely near her collarbone made your stomach drop.
You replayed it four times just to be sure your eyes weren’t lying.
Luke noticed you’d gone still.
“Babe?”
You turned the phone toward him without a word.
He blinked, sat up slowly. “It’s just lunch.”
“You said it was the boys.”
“It was mostly the boys. Lauren was there with Sarah and them.”
“You sat next to her.”
“That was the only seat left when I got there.”
“Your arm…”
“It’s a booth, babe. There’s no room.”
You stared at him. “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie. I just… didn’t mention she’d be there because I knew you’d get upset.”
“So you admit you knew I’d be upset and you still went. And still sat like that.”
Luke exhaled through his nose. “This again.”
“Yes, Luke. This again. Because nothing ever changes.”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“She’s in the friend group. She’s been in the friend group since we were nineteen. I’m not gonna be the dick who tells her she can’t come to brunch.”
“I’m not asking you to ban her from earth, Luke. I’m asking why you let her sit that close, why your arm was around her, why you didn’t tell me the truth.”
“Because there the second I say her name you turn into this.” He gestured vaguely at you.
Your voice shook a little. “Do you even hear yourself? You think I like feeling crazy?”
“I think you look for reasons to be mad about her.”
Silence. Cold and sharp.
You sat up fully, knees pulled to your chest.
“Luke. Do you know she still wants you?”
He hesitated. That half-second was all you needed.
“You do know,” you whispered. “You know and you let her think she still has a shot.”
“I have zero intention of doing anything with her. Zero. You know that.”
“I do know that. But she doesn’t. And the longer you keep hugging her goodbye, keep letting her touch your arm, keep sitting like you’re still single, the longer she thinks maybe one day you’ll wake up and remember how easy it was with her before the wife and the kid and the hate comments.”
Luke’s jaw flexed. “She’s not like that. She wouldn’t try to—”
“She’s a woman who watches you on TV everynight and still texts you memes at 1 a.m. She knows exactly what the fuck she’s doing.”
“You’re making her into some mastermind. She’s just… Lauren.”
“Exactly. Just Lauren. Who you keep giving hope to because you’re too kind to hurt her feelings.”
“No, I’m not”
“Luke, you’re married. You have a daughter asleep twenty feet away. There is a line.”
He stood up, pacing to the window.
“So what’s the rule? I’m not allowed to talk to any woman I’ve ever dated? Should I burn every bridge so my wife doesn’t have to feel threatened?”
“Stop twisting this. I’m not threatened by her. I’m tired of watching my husband act single in front of a girl who wants him back.”
“I don’t act single!”
“You sat with your arm around her!”
“Because it’s a fucking booth!”
“Stop yelling,” you hissed.
“I’m not—” He caught himself, lowered his voice. “I’m not yelling.”
But you were. Both of you were breathing too hard.
You stood up too, grabbing your keys from the dresser.
“You know what? Do whatever you want. Stay friends. Sit wherever. Let her think whatever she wants. I’m done being the nagging wife who ruins brunch.”
“Babe—“
“No. I’m done. Luke, I’m done.”
You were halfway down the hall when you heard the soft creak of Lucy’s bedroom door.
You froze in place.
Luke did too.
Tiny feet padded across hardwood. Lucy appeared in the doorway of your bedroom rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her unicorn pajamas, curls a wild halo.
“Mommy?” Her voice was small. “Why you yelling?”
Your heart cracked clean in half.
Luke moved first, crouching down. “Hey, Luce. Mommy and Snoopy were just talking too loud. We didn’t mean to wake you.”
Lucy looked from him to you, then back again.
“Snoopy made Mommy cry.”
You hadn’t even realized tears were on your cheeks.
You wiped them fast, forced a smile.
“I’m okay, baby. Mommy’s just gonna go for a little drive. Snoopy’s here, okay”
You couldn’t look at Luke when you said it.
You kissed Lucy’s forehead, grabbed your coat, and left.
The door shut with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than any slam.
Luke stood in the hallway staring at the closed door like he could will you back through it.
Then Lucy tugged on his hoodie string.
“Snoopy? Where Mommy going?”
He swallowed. “Mommy needs some air, Luce. She’ll be back soon.”
Lucy’s bottom lip wobbled. “You made her sad.”
The guilt hit him so hard he had to sit on the floor right there in the hallway.
“I know, baby. I messed up.”
Lucy crawled into his lap, small hands framing his face the way you do when you’re trying to make him listen.
“Snoopy. You gotta say sorry.”
“I will, princess. I promise.”
She nodded solemnly, then brighter, “Can we go see Nana and Papa? I wanna show Papa my new moose backpack.”
Luke latched onto the lifeline like a drowning man.
“Yeah… Yeah, let’s do that.”
The drive to his parents’ house in Michigan was forty-five minutes of Luke replaying every word you’d said on loop while Lucy sang along to the Frozen soundtrack in her car seat.
Halfway there she went quiet.
“Snoopy?”
“Yeah, Luce?”
“Did you stop loving Mommy?”
He almost swerved off the road.
“No, baby. God no. Snoopy loves Mommy more than anything.”
Lucy picked at the strap of her backpack.
“Then why Mommy leave?”
Luke had no answer that a four-year-old could understand.
When they pulled into Jim and Ellen’s driveway, Jack’s Jeep and Quinn’s Range Rover were already there. Apparently the whole family had decided to descend on their parents this weekend.
Great.
Lucy bolted out of the car the second her car seat was unbuckled, running straight into Jack’s arms the moment he opened the door and straight into Luke’s parents house.
“Uncle Rowdy!!!”
“There’s my favorite, Lucy Luce!” Jack swung her up.
“Where’s your mom, Luce?”
Lucy went very serious. “I think Snoopy made Mommy sad.”
The entire room went still.
Ellen’s eyes snapped to Luke.
Jim set his coffee down slowly.
Quinn just raised an eyebrow that somehow said more than words ever could.
Jack, sensing the tension, scooped Lucy higher.
“Hey Luce, wanna go show me that new Lego castle Uncle Quinn got you? It’s in the basement.”
Lucy nodded and let Jack carry her away.
The second they were gone Ellen spoke.
“Lukey. What did you do?”
Luke rubbed the back of his neck. “Can we not do this with an audience?”
Quinn leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“Pretty sure the audience is already involved, considering your four-year-old just announced it to the room.”
Jim just pointed at the couch. “Sit.”
Luke sat.
He told them everything. The lunch. The photo. The fight. The way Lucy woke up. The way you walked out.
When he finished, the silence was deafening.
Ellen spoke first, voice soft but steel underneath.
“Luke… I love you. But you screwed this up royally.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Quinn asked.
“Because this isn’t the first time she’s brought this up. It’s the fifth. Maybe sixth.”
Luke opened his mouth. Closed it.
Quinn kept going. “You’re the luckiest idiot on planet earth, you know that? She gave up everything to be with you. California, her friends, her anonymity. She gets death threats in her DMs just because she has our last name. And everytime she says ‘hey, you know what, this makes me uncomfortable,’ you act like she’s asking you to set the girl on fire.”
“I’m not trying to…”
“You are,” Jim cut in. “Son, listen to me. Kindness without boundaries is just people-pleasing. And right now you’re pleasing everyone except the one person who actually matters.”
Luke’s voice cracked. “She said she’s done.”
Ellen’s eyes filled. “Then you’d better make sure she knows that’s not an option. Because if you lose her over this, if you let your need to be the nice guy cost you your family. I will never forgive you.”
Luke dropped his head into his hands.
Quinn moved to sit beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“You know we love you. But Mom’s right. Fix it. Today.”
Upstairs, Jack was reading Lucy her fourth book when she looked up at him with those huge hazel eyes.
“Uncle Rowdy?”
“Yeah, Luce?”
“Is Mommy gonna come get me?”
Jack’s chest ached. “Of course she is, kiddo. Moms always come back.”
Lucy nodded slowly. “I hope she brings Snoopy with her when she does.”
You drove for two hours.
You cried for the first thirty minutes, screamed for the next ten, then just… drove. Past the arena, past the little park where Luke taught Lucy to skate last winter, past the grocery store where the cashier still calls you ‘Mrs. Hughes’ with a smile.
Your phone buzzed nonstop.
Luke
baby please come home
i’m so sorry
i took luce to mom and dad’s
please just tell me you’re safe
You didn’t answer.
At 6:47 p.m. you pulled into Jim and Ellen’s driveway because you couldn’t stand the idea of Lucy thinking you’d left her too.
You were barely out of the car when the front door flew open and Lucy launched herself at your legs.
“Mommy!”
You dropped to your knees, hugging her so tight she squeaked.
“Hi, baby. Mommy missed you.”
Lucy pulled back, hands on your cheeks. “Snoopy said sorry a lot. He cried a little. But don’t tell him I told you.”
Your eyes flicked up.
Luke was standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes red and swollen.
Ellen appeared behind him, touching his shoulder gently.
“Why don’t you two take the porch? We’ve got Lucy.”
You stood slowly, Lucy clinging to your hand.
Luke stepped aside so you could come in, but you stayed on the porch. For a long minute neither of you spoke.
Then Luke broke.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse.
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
You looked at him, arms wrapped around yourself.
“I told Lauren everything,” he said quickly.
“Told her I was wrong to let things blur, that I have a wife and a daughter and I won’t risk them for anything. Told her if she can’t respect boundaries then she’s not welcome around me anymore. She cried. I left.”
“I blocked her,” he continued.
“Deleted every old message. I’m not trying to be the nice guy anymore. I’m trying to be your husband.”
Your eyes filled again.
“I don’t want to be kind if it hurts you,” he whispered.
“I don’t want to be anything if it’s not with you.”
You looked away, toward the Christmas lights blinking on the neighbors’ houses.
Lucy’s voice came from inside, loud and clear.
“Nana, can Snoopy and Mommy kiss and make up now? I helped!”
Ellen’s muffled “Luce!” followed.
You laughed once, wet and broken.
Luke stepped closer. “I love you more than hockey. More than being liked. More than anything. Please come home.”
You looked at him then, really looked. The boy you married was still there, but older now. Tired. Scared.
You reached for his hand.
He grabbed it like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.
“I love you too,” you said quietly. “But if this ever happens again—”
“No, It won’t. I swear on everything. On Lucy. On us.”
You nodded slowly.
He pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. You felt his tears on your neck.
“I’m sorry I made you feel alone in this,” he whispered. “Never again.”
Behind you, the door creaked open. Lucy peeked out, grinning huge.
“Are we a family again?”
Luke laughed through his tears.
“Yeah, baby. We’re always a family.”
Lucy ran out in her socks, throwing her arms around both your legs.
You bent down, scooping her up between you.
She looked at Luke very seriously.
“Snoopy, you gotta say sorry to Mommy with flowers. And ice cream. And maybe a pony.”
Luke kissed her cheek. “How about flowers and ice cream and a new moose?”
Lucy considered this. “Deal.”
That night you drove home together, Lucy asleep in her car seat, clutching the new stuffed moose Quinn had apparently bought ‘just in case.’
Luke held your hand the whole way.
When you got home he carried Lucy to bed, tucked her in, then came to find you in the kitchen.
He wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin on your shoulder.
“I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to wonder again,” he murmured.
You turned in his arms, pressing your forehead to his.
“Good,” you whispered.
“Because I’m planning on keeping you forever.”
He kissed you slow and deep, the way he did the night he proposed, the night Lucy was born, the night you said yes to everything.
Later in bed, he pulled you close, fingers tracing the ring on your left hand.
The first night you ever stayed over at Luke’s place wasn’t supposed to happen.
You had gone to watch a Devils home game, sitting in the seat Luke’s teammates joked was his “lucky charm.” He always played better when he knew exactly where you were, he just refused to admit it out loud. After the win, he texted you:
LUKE: Can you come to mine? Just for a bit? I don’t want this night to end yet.
You said yes.
You didn’t even bring a change of clothes, thinking you’d stay an hour, two at most. But two hours became three, and those turned into both of you lying on his bed, fully clothed, half-tangled together as you whispered things you had never told anyone else. It felt easy. Safe. New in the best way.
Somewhere around 2 a.m., Luke kissed your forehead and whispered, “Stay, okay?”
And you did.
When you woke up, sunlight was filtering through the blinds, warm and soft. You were tucked right into Luke’s chest, his arm wrapped around your waist like he’d been afraid you might disappear in the night. His hair was a messy halo, curls flattened on one side. His breath was warm against your neck, steady and slow, like he was still dreaming.
And then you heard voices.
“I think he’s still sleeping,”
“No chance. Luke wakes up at, like, noon.”
“Jack, it’s literally ten.”
“But that’s still morning, Quinn. What are you doing up?”
Your eyes flew open.
Luke’s eyes fluttered open a second later, confused and sleepy. “Mmm… what’s happening?”
Before you could answer, his bedroom door swung open.
Quinn walked in first, wearing a hoodie that was definitely Luke’s but stretched out like he’d stolen it years ago. Jack followed right behind, holding a box of cereal and eating it straight from the bag like a feral raccoon.
Both of them froze.
Then stared.
Then blinked.
You wanted to sink through the mattress and disappear into the floorboards.
Luke shot upright like he’d been electrocuted. His arm slipped from around you, his curls sticking up in eight different directions. “Quinn,Jack,what,what are you,why,who told you to come in?!”
Jack blinked again, slowly, still chewing.
“…Bro.”
Quinn’s expression was painfully neutral. “We didn’t think you’d have anyone in here.”
Jack, mouth full: “Yeah. We thought you were a virgin.”
“JACK!” Luke practically shrieked.
You made a strangled noise in your throat, torn between laughing and dying.
Quinn closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jack. Stop talking.”
“I’m just saying I didn’t think little Lukey here had it in him.”
Luke turned scarlet. “NOTHING HAPPENED!”
Quinn opened one eye. “You’re literally in bed together.”
“That doesn’t mean, Quinn! Oh my god,”
You tugged the blanket up to your shoulders, cheeks burning. “Hi,” you attempted, voice small and mortified.
Jack flashed you a grin, all chaotic younger-brother energy. “Hi. I’m Jack. I score goals sometimes.”
Quinn sighed. “She knows who you are.”
“Okay, but like, does she really know?”
Luke looked like he was about to combust. “GET. OUT.”
Jack held up the cereal box. “Do you guys want breakfast or,”
“OUT!”
Quinn placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder, steering him back toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s give Luke and his girlfriend some privacy.”
“She’s your girlfriend?” Jack blurted. “DUDE!”
Luke groaned into his hands. “Jack, please just leave.”
“Fine, fine,jeez. Congrats, though.”
Quinn turned at the door, expression softening just a little. “Sorry. Next time… lock the door?”
Then they were gone.
You and Luke stared at the closed door in stunned silence.
Then Luke let out a miserable whine and flopped backward onto the bed, covering his face with a pillow. “That was the worst moment of my life.”
You gently pulled the pillow away. His face was beet-red, ears included. “It wasn’t that bad,” you said.
“They were in here. While we were,while we were,”
“Sleeping?”
“Exactly!”
You burst out laughing. You couldn’t help it. His distress was real, but it was also… adorable.
Luke pressed both hands over his face. “This is so embarrassing. They’re never gonna let me live this down. Jack’s gonna tell the entire team. No,he’s gonna tell the entire league. Gary Bettman is gonna know.”
You sat up and ran your fingers through his messy hair. He peeked at you from between his fingers.
“You look cute when you’re panicking,” you said softly.
He made another small noise, halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Please don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I can’t be panicking properly.”
You leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Luke froze for a second,still shy, still new to the warmth of having someone close. Then he relaxed, leaning into your touch.
“I liked waking up with you,” you said, voice quiet.
He swallowed, cheeks pink again. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Luke reached for your hand under the blanket, intertwining your fingers. His voice dropped lower, gentle but earnest. “I… really like having you here. More than I thought I would.”
Your heart fluttered.
You were about to reply when someone knocked,twice,and Jack yelled through the door:
“BREAKFAST IS READY! WE’RE MAKING PANCAKES. COME OUT IF YOU’RE DONE, YOU KNOW, WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING!”
Luke’s soul visibly left his body.
He collapsed sideways, burying his face into your shoulder. “I’m moving out. I swear to god, I’m finding a new family.”
You giggled, tracing small shapes on his arm. “You could just ignore them.”
“I can’t. They’ll break down the door.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Okay,” you said softly, nudging him. “Let’s get up. Face the chaos together.”
Luke looked at you like you’d just told him he’d won the Stanley Cup. A small smile tugged at his lips, warm and a little shy. “Together?”
“Together.”
He stood, stretching, still flustered but glowing in that early-relationship way. You borrowed one of his hoodies,he insisted, cheeks pink,and when he saw you wearing it, he actually stopped walking.
“You look…”
He scratched the back of his neck. “You look really, really good.”
You took his hand. “Come on, pretty boy. Time to face your brothers.”
Luke grinned nervously. “If Jack says one thing,just one thing,I’m jumping out the window.”
You squeezed his hand. “I’ll catch you.”
He laughed, the tension breaking. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
When you opened the door, you found Quinn sitting at the kitchen counter with coffee and Jack flipping pancakes with the confidence of someone who had never successfully made a pancake in his life.
Jack looked up, saw you wearing Luke’s hoodie, and immediately smirked.
“SO…” he began loudly.
“Jack,” Quinn warned.
“I’m just saying,”
Luke pointed a finger. “Don’t.”
Jack raised his hands innocently. “Fine. I won’t say anything.”
Beat.
“But if I did say something, it would be,”
Luke lunged at him.
Quinn sighed into his coffee as Jack screamed and Luke wrestled him away from the stove.
You stood in the doorway, watching the Hughes brothers’ chaos unfold, Luke laughing as he tried to headlock Jack, Quinn grabbing the spatula before it set the kitchen on fire.
And somehow, in the middle of the madness, Luke glanced back at you.
His smile softened.
And you knew,awkward morning or not,you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
genre: romance, extreme fluff, established relationship.
warnings: dangerous levels of sweetness, minor second-hand embarrassment, teammates being menaces.
summary: quinn has a secret game-day ritual, a tiny photo of you tucked inside his suit jacket, right over his heart. when the guys finally catch him sneaking a glance in the tunnel, the chirping is immediate and merciless. you think it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. quinn thinks you’re cuter (especially when you pretend to be asleep just so he’ll kiss your forehead everynight).
fia’s note: currently having such a big crush on quinn hughes — our huggy bear!!! 🐻 btw, my requests for macklin celebrini are officially open, so if you want to request anything, just send them in!!
“I’m telling you, bro, he does it every single game,” Thatcher Demko stage-whispered from the doorway of the video room.
“Same pocket. Same five-second stare. Like he’s checking the weather or something.”
Brock Boeser didn’t even look up from the iPad, already grinning.
“You’re sure it’s not just his parking pass?”
“No. It’s a picture. Tiny one. I saw it in Florida when he thought I was tying my skate.”
Elias Pettersson leaned over the back of the couch, “We need photographic evidence. This is captain blackmail material for life.”
Quinn chose that exact moment to walk past the open door, water bottle in hand, headphones around his neck. He stopped dead.
“…What are you idiots plotting?”
Three heads swiveled toward him with the synchronized innocence of guilty golden retrievers.
“Nothing,” they chorused.
Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Why do I not believe you?”
Brock recovered first. “Because you’re paranoid. Also, nice suit, Huggy. That navy one makes you look very… pocket-accessible.”
Quinn stared at him for a long second, then kept walking.
“Weirdo.”
But his ears were already turning pink.
That night, you were curled up on the couch waiting for him to get home from the morning skate when your phone buzzed with a video from Dakota, Thatcher’s wife.
Dakota: tunnel cam caught your man being the softest human alive. you’re welcome 😘
The clip was only twelve seconds long.
There was Quinn in the lineup before warm-ups against New York, eyes focused somewhere past the camera. His right hand slipped inside his jacket, pulled out something no bigger than a postage stamp, look down at it for exactly five seconds, brushed his thumb across it once, then tucked it away again. The tension in his shoulders eased like someone had flipped a switch.
You recognized the photo instantly. Wind in your hair, laughing so hard your eyes were half-closed. He’d taken it last July.
You replayed it four times, heart trying to climb out of your chest. When Quinn walked through the door twenty minutes later, you didn’t even let him take his shoes off.
“You keep me in your pocket,” you accused, phone still in hand, eyes suspiciously shiny.
He kinda froze in the entryway, “…Who told you?”
“Tunnel cam, Thatcher, Dakota, the entire internet by tomorrow, probably.” You held up the phone.
“Five seconds, Quinny. You look at me for five seconds like I’m your good-luck charm.”
He dropped the bag, rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not, I mean it helps, okay? The noise gets loud sometimes and then I see you laughing on that dock and everything just… settles.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but his voice was soft.
“I’ve been doing it since October.”
“October?” You did the math. “That’s forty-three games.”
“Forty-four,” he corrected quietly. “Including preseason.”
You made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and launched yourself at him. He caught you easily, arms wrapping around your waist as you peppered his face with kisses.
“You absolute huggy bear,” you mumbled against his cheek.
“I’m never recovering from this.”
He laughed, embarrassed but pleased, and hid his face in your hair.
“The guys are never gonna let me live it down.”
“They absolutely shouldn’t. I hope they get it printed on T-shirts.”
He groaned. “Please don’t give Brock ideas.”
Too late. By the time you both showed up to the rink that night, half the team was wearing custom shirts under their dress shirts that read ‘HUGGY’S POCKET GIRLFRIEND’ with a grainy still of the tunnel-cam moment on the front.
Quinn took one look at Brock’s smug face, sighed like a man accepting his fate, and said,
“It works, okay? Leave me alone.”
Then he kissed you right there in the hallway in front of everyone, before heading to the locker room. The chirping reached decibels previously thought impossible.
You floated up to the suite on a cloud of second-hand embarrassment and pure joy.
Later, after the win and Quinn’s two-assist night, he found you outside the locker room like always and he smelled like the fancy post-game soap the arena provided. He didn’t say anything at first, just pulled you into him, arms around your shoulders, chin resting on your head.
“Hi,” you whispered into his damp hoodie.
“Hi,” he whispered back. “So… that happened.”
“I’m framing the tunnel clip.”
He laughed quietly. “Of course you are.”
You tilted your head up. “Can I see it? The actual picture?”
He hesitated, then reached inside his suit jacket, the same navy one from earlier and carefully pulled out the tiny laminated photo. The edges were soft from months of handling. On the back, in his neat handwriting ‘07-18-24 - my reason.’
Your throat closed.
He watched your face the whole time, shy. “I was gonna tell you eventually.”
You traced the date with one finger. “You wrote ‘my reason.’”
“Yeah.” His voice was barely audible. “You are.”
You tucked the photo back into his pocket yourself, right over his heart, and patted it once.
“Keep me there, Captain Huggy Bear.”
He smiled, small, secret, yours and leaned down to kiss your forehead, lingering like he always did.
That night, when you climbed into bed, you even pretend to be asleep. You just rolled straight into his arms and waited.
He didn’t disappoint.
The second his head hit the pillow, he tugged you close, pressed his lips to the center of your forehead, and left them there for a long, warm moment.
“I know you’re not sleeping,” he murmured against your skin.
You grinned. “Busted.”
He kissed the spot again anyway. “Love you.”
“Love you more.”
He hummed, content. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Week later, you had your revenge gift ready.
He came home from morning skate to find you in the kitchen attempting his post-practice smoothie.
“Close your eyes,” you ordered the second he stepped inside.
He raised an eyebrow but obeyed, letting you lead him to the couch. You placed a small velvet pouch in his hand.
“Okay, open.”
Inside was a thin silver chain with a tiny round locket. When he clicked it open, there he was fast asleep on your couch last month, mouth slightly open, one arm flung above his head, looking unfairly beautiful. On the opposite side you’d engraved the same lake-house date and a new line ‘my captain, my home.’
Quinn went very, very still.
You started rambling. “I just thought… you carry me into every game, so maybe I should get to carry you into every day, and—”
He cut you off by pulling you into his lap and kissing you so thoroughly you forgot how words worked.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were glassy.
“You’re wearing this every day now,” he said, voice rough, already reaching to clasp it around your neck.
You touched the locket where it rested against your collarbone.
“Deal. But you’re still keeping the pocket photo.”
“Never taking it out,” he promised.
That night, after he’d kissed your forehead whispered ‘thank you’ everytime you caught him staring at the locket, you lay tangled together in the dark.
“Hey, Quinny?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Next home game, when you pull the picture out in the tunnel… maybe don’t hide it anymore.”
He was quiet for a beat. Then you felt him smile against your temple.
“Only if you keep pretending to be asleep sometimes,” he whispered.
“I really like kissing you when you think I think you’re out.”
Can we get a luke hughes and gf reader fic where Luke maybe had a bad day and just gets super grumpy and snappy with reader, but she just puts up with it and lets him because she knows he doesn't mean it and that letting it out will help, and then later when he snaps out of it he feels really bad does a bunch of stuff to try and make up for it even though she claims its fine
Let the Storm Pass
Pairing: Luke Hughes x Reader
Word Count: 1368
Request open!
24 days of Christmas | Hockey Masterlist | Hockey Masterlist II
Luke Hughes Playlist
A/N:hey lovelies 🤍 just a quick note — if you’d like to repost my fics on other platforms (wattpad, etc.), please ask me first. i’m always happy to talk about it, i just don’t want to find out from someone else 🫶thank you for understanding & for all the love you show my work
He doesn’t slam the door,Luke’s too controlled for that,but it closes a little too hard behind him, the latch clicking like punctuation.
You’re on the couch with a blanket over your legs, reruns murmuring in the background. The second you see his face, you sit up.
“Hey,” you say softly. “You’re home early.”
Luke’s jaw works like he’s chewing on something bitter. “Yeah. Lucky you.”
The words land sharp, but you don’t flinch. You just pat the cushion beside you. “Come here.”
“I’m not a dog.” He tosses his keys into the bowl by the door like it personally offended him. They clatter. “God.”
You take a slow breath through your nose. Bad day. The kind that sits behind his eyes and makes everything feel too loud.
“Okay,” you say, calm as you can manage. “Then don’t come here. Do you want water?”
“I want people to stop asking me what I want,” he snaps, heading for the kitchen. Cabinet doors open. Close. Open again. A sigh, harsh and frustrated. “I want one day where nothing is,” He cuts himself off.
You keep your voice even. “I can do that. I can stop asking.”
Another cabinet shuts. Harder this time. “Great.”
You could call him out. You could tell him he’s being unfair. You could list all the ways you didn’t deserve to be his punching bag tonight.
But you see his shoulders, the tension drawn tight like string, and you remember what he’s like when the pressure finally leaks out,how it’s easier for him to be prickly than vulnerable. How anger is a language he learned before he learned how to say, I’m not okay.
Luke stalks back into the living room, a water bottle in hand. He doesn’t drink it. He just holds it like he needs something to grip.
You shift on the couch so he has room if he decides he wants it.
He doesn’t.
He paces instead, one loop around the coffee table, then another. His knee bounces when he stops.
“You want to tell me what happened?” you ask.
He whips his head toward you. “No.”
“Okay.”
Your agreement seems to irritate him more than any argument would.
“You’re being,” Luke gestures at you like he can’t find the right insult, then shakes his head. “Whatever.”
“Whatever?” you repeat gently.
He scoffs. “Yeah. Like… all calm and saintly. It’s annoying.”
You blink once, then nod, like you’re taking notes. “Got it. Next time I’ll scream.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you said.”
Luke’s mouth opens, then closes. He drags a hand over his face. “I’m not doing this.”
“Okay,” you say again.
He stares at you like you’re a puzzle that refuses to be solved. “Why aren’t you mad?”
Because you’ve seen him come home radiant,laughing, buzzing with adrenaline, pulling you into his arms like the world is perfect,and you’ve seen him come home like this, brittle and frayed at the edges.
Because you know the difference between Luke being cruel and Luke being overwhelmed.
Because you love him, and love sometimes looks like standing in the rain with someone until they remember how to step under cover.
You just shrug, small. “You’re having a hard day.”
“I’m being an ass,” he mutters.
“You are,” you agree.
His eyes widen. “Oh.”
“But you’re also… Luke,” you add, softening it. “And I know you don’t want to be.”
He looks away, throat bobbing. “You don’t know that.”
You sit forward, elbows on your knees. “You want me to fight you right now?”
Luke exhales, shaky. “No.”
“Then I won’t.”
Silence. The TV laughs at something neither of you heard.
Luke’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Practice was trash. Coach was on me the whole time. I messed up a drill,like, one thing,and it turned into this whole,” He clenches his jaw. “Everyone’s watching. Everyone’s… waiting for you to be perfect.”
You nod. “That sounds exhausting.”
He huffs a humorless laugh. “And then some reporter,” He stops, eyes flashing. “Never mind.”
You don’t push.
He paces again, then stops in front of the couch like he’s deciding whether to jump or fall.
“Do you want space?” you ask.
“I want,” He swallows. “I don’t know.”
So you make the decision for him, the way you always do when he’s spinning.
You open your arms, wordless.
Luke stands there for a beat, rigid, fighting it. Then his face crumples in the smallest way,like a crack in ice,and he steps forward, dropping onto the couch beside you.
Not into your arms.
Just close enough that his shoulder brushes yours.
You don’t grab him. You don’t trap him. You just let your hand rest on the couch cushion near his, an offering he can accept or ignore.
After a minute, his fingers find yours.
They cling.
He whispers, “I’m sorry.”
You keep your tone light. “For what?”
He squeezes your hand harder, like he can’t believe you’re making him say it. “For… being snappy. For the water thing. For,” He winces. “For acting like you’re annoying when you’re literally just… being you.”
You shrug. “I’m pretty annoying.”
Luke gives you a look,half offended, half pleading. “Don’t.”
“Luke, it’s fine,” you say, honest. “I get it.”
“No,” he says, voice rough. “You shouldn’t have to ‘get it.’ You shouldn’t have to,” He gestures vaguely at the air between you. “Stand there and let me bite.”
You tilt your head. “Do you feel better now?”
He hesitates. “A little.”
“Then it worked,” you say softly. “You let it out. Now you can breathe.”
His eyes go glassy. “That’s not fair.”
“What?”
“You’re too good to me,” he mutters, staring at your interlaced fingers. “And I treat you like,like a punching bag, and you just,”
“I love you,” you say simply.
Luke’s lips press together like he’s trying not to unravel. “I’m going to make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He sits up suddenly, like motivation sparks through guilt. “Okay. Plan. I’ll,” He points toward the kitchen. “I’ll cook. Whatever you want. Pancakes? Eggs? I’ll do that thing with the avocado you like.”
You smile. “It’s dinner.”
“Breakfast for dinner,” he insists, already halfway off the couch. “And then I’ll run you a bath. With the fancy salts. And I’ll,” He pauses, eyes narrowing with determination. “I’ll put on that face mask with the little panda on it.”
You laugh. “Luke.”
“And,” he continues, warming to the mission, “I’ll watch your show. The one where everyone cries and nothing happens. I’ll watch all of it. No complaining.”
“You hate that show.”
“I’ll love it,” he vows, dead serious. “I’ll be like, ‘Wow, look at them… emotionally communicating.’”
You snort. “You’re ridiculous.”
Luke stops in front of you, hands on his hips, like he’s presenting his case to a jury. “I’m serious. I was a jerk. I’m going to be so nice you’ll get sick of me.”
“You being nice has never made me sick,” you say.
His expression softens, and for the first time since he walked in, he looks like himself again,like the storm has passed and left the air clear.
He crouches in front of the couch so you’re eye level. “You’re sure you’re not mad?”
You reach up and cup his cheek. “I’m sure.”
Luke leans into your hand like he needs the contact. “I don’t deserve you.”
You tap his cheek, gentle. “You do. You just had a day.”
He closes his eyes. “Next time, I’ll try to… not take it out on you.”
You nod. “And next time, I’ll still be here.”
Luke opens his eyes, and they’re bright. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He stands, offering you his hand. “Come on. Breakfast-for-dinner. And I’m cracking the eggs with one hand like a professional.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It’s romantic,” he says, deadpan.
You take his hand anyway, letting him pull you up.
As you head toward the kitchen, Luke squeezes your fingers like he’s saying thank you in the only way he can right now.
And you let him,because sometimes love is letting the storm pass, and sometimes it’s the quiet after, when he tries to rebuild the whole sky just to make sure you’re okay under it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
you know how there are those apps you can get that connect your home screen with someone else's and you can draw something and the other sees it on their home screen? I think this would be so cute with one of the hughes brothers, especially luke, if every time reader opened her phone while out of the house she saw little notes on her home screen with hearts and little drawings from him, and reader loving to screen shot them!!! thank youuuu, your writing is amazing!!!
Pinned to Your Screen
Pairing: Luke Hughes x Reader
Word Count: 1289
Request open!
24 days of Christmas | Hockey Masterlist | Hockey Masterlist II
Luke Hughes Playlist
Valentine's Day Masterlist
You discover the app by accident.
Not because you’re browsing the App Store like a normal person,but because Jack Hughes is apparently incapable of minding his business.
You’re sitting on the Devils’ plane, legs tucked up, Luke’s hoodie swallowing you whole, when Jack leans over the seat like a menace.
“You know what you should do?” Jack says, eyes bright with trouble. “Get one of those couple home-screen apps.”
You blink. “A what?”
“Like,” Jack wiggles his fingers dramatically, “you can draw on it and it shows up on the other person’s phone. Right on their home screen.”
Luke, sitting beside you with his headphones around his neck, lifts a brow. “That’s creepy.”
“It’s cute,” Jack argues. “And you’re boring.”
Luke snorts. “You’re literally twelve.”
Jack gasps. “I’m,” He points at you. “Tell him it’s cute.”
You glance at Luke. He’s already watching you, like he’s bracing for you to side with Jack.
“It’s… kind of cute,” you admit.
Luke’s eyes narrow. “Traitor.”
Jack beams. “YES. Download it. Both of you. Right now. I’ll set it up.”
Luke reaches out and pushes Jack’s forehead away with one finger. “Get your hands off our phones.”
“Our?” Jack repeats, scandalized. “Okay, married.”
You laugh, pulling your phone out. “Fine. But if my phone turns into a crime scene of doodles, I’m blaming you.”
Luke mutters, “I’m not drawing anything.”
Jack points at him. “That’s what they all say.”
Twenty minutes later, the app is installed.
Linked.
And suspiciously blank.
Luke sets his phone down on his thigh. “See? We did it. We can tell Jack we did it. Great. Done.”
You tilt your head. “You’re really not gonna use it?”
He looks at you. “What would I even draw?”
“A heart,” you say instantly.
Luke’s face does something small,like his brain short-circuits at the idea of being romantic on purpose.
“I’m not drawing a heart,” he says, voice flat.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not,” he repeats, like that explains everything.
You grin. “Because you’re scared you’ll like it.”
Luke’s ears go pink. “I’m not scared.”
“Oh?” You lean closer. “Prove it.”
He stares at you, lips pressed together, eyes flicking between you and his phone.
Then he snatches it up. “Fine.”
Luke taps the app. Squints at the blank canvas like it’s a defensive zone coverage he’s never seen before.
Jack is watching over the seat like he’s witnessing history.
Luke draws one line.
Then another.
Then he pauses, looking mildly offended by the thickness of the digital brush.
“What is it?” you whisper, delighted.
“It’s,” he starts, then stops. “Shut up.”
Jack practically squeals. “HE’S DOING IT.”
Luke finishes and hits send with the kind of aggression you’d use to slap-shot a puck.
Your phone vibrates.
You glance down.
On your home screen,right above your apps,there’s a lopsided heart with two tiny stick figures inside it. One is taller. One is wearing something that looks suspiciously like a hockey helmet.
And above them, in Luke’s handwriting that is somehow both neat and chaotic, it says:
“ur annoying. ❤️”
You stare.
Then you burst out laughing.
“Luke!” you squeak.
He looks at you like he’s daring you to make fun of him. “What?”
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever,” you start.
“It’s not cute,” he says quickly.
You immediately take a screenshot.
Luke’s eyes widen. “Did you just,”
“I did,” you confirm, still laughing. “And I’m keeping it forever.”
Luke groans and leans back in his seat. “I hate you.”
Jack claps like a proud father. “This is the best day of my life.”
The next morning, you wake up in Luke’s apartment while he’s already at practice.
Your phone is the first thing you reach for.
Because you’re addicted now.
You unlock it and,
There’s a new note.
A tiny doodle of a coffee cup with a face, smiling.
“drink water. eat something. i’ll be home later.”
Your chest softens so hard it almost hurts.
You screenshot it before you even think.
Then you text him.
You: You’re using the app.
Three dots.
Luke: No I’m not.
You: My home screen says otherwise.
Luke: That wasn’t me.
You: Luke… it’s literally your handwriting.
Luke: could be anyone’s.
You laugh, rolling onto your back.
You: I’m screenshotting every single one.
Luke: why.
You: Because I love them.
A pause.
Then:
Luke: ok. don’t show jack.
You find them everywhere.
A little heart next to a stick-figure you with a hockey stick.
A doodle of a sad puck with the words “missing you” in tiny letters.
A badly drawn cat labeled “us” even though neither of you owns a cat.
One day, you’re out running errands alone, and you stop in the middle of the grocery store aisle because your phone vibrates.
You unlock it.
A tiny drawing of Luke’s face,just eyes and hair and a crooked smile,next to:
“u look pretty today.”
Your face burns.
A woman reaches past you for pasta sauce and you realize you’ve been standing there smiling at your phone like a maniac.
You text him immediately.
You: ?????? I’m in public.
Luke: and?
You: I’m blushing in the pasta aisle.
Luke: good.
You: I hate you.
Luke: liar.
You screenshot it.
Of course you do.
The first time Luke sees your screenshot album, it’s an accident.
You’re curled on his couch, flipping through pictures, and he leans over your shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He squints. “Is that… my drawing?”
You freeze.
Luke reaches for your phone, and you clutch it to your chest. “No.”
“Give it,” he says, half-laughing, half-demanding.
“No!”
He lunges. You squeal. The blanket tangles around your legs as you try to scramble away, but Luke’s long arms catch you easily.
He pins you gently into the couch cushions, laughing breathlessly. “You’re hiding something.”
“It’s private!” you protest.
“Your home screen notes are private?” he teases, eyes bright.
You glare. “Yes.”
Luke pries your phone from your hands with infuriating ease and starts scrolling.
His face shifts,first confused, then startled, then… soft.
Because it’s not just a few.
It’s dozens.
Screenshots organized into an album titled “Luke being cute (against his will)”
Luke blinks. “You… saved all of these?”
You cover your face with your hands. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not,” he starts, then stops.
He scrolls again, slower now, seeing the dates, the little notes, the tiny hearts.
“I didn’t know you… actually liked them that much,” he admits.
You peek through your fingers. “I said I did.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “But I thought you were just… teasing.”
You sit up a little. “Luke, I open my phone and you’re there. Even when you’re not.”
His throat bobs. He clears it. “That’s,”
“Sweet,” you finish for him. “And it makes me happy.”
Luke looks at you like you’re too much in the best way. Then he sets your phone down carefully and leans in.
“You’re so,” he murmurs, like he can’t find the word.
“Annoying?” you offer.
He smiles. “Yeah. But… the good kind.”
You grin. “Say you like the app.”
“I don’t.”
You raise a brow.
Luke sighs dramatically. “Fine. I like the app.”
You gasp, delighted. “Everyone clap.”
Luke rolls his eyes, then pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like he’s trying to make you stay there.
His voice is muffled against your hair. “I just like… leaving you stuff. So you know I’m thinking about you.”
Your heart does a stupid flip.
You mumble, “That’s disgusting.”
Luke snorts. “Shut up.”
You tilt your head back to look at him. “So you’re gonna keep doing it?”
Luke’s eyes flicker to your phone, then back to you.
“Yeah,” he says, quieter. “If you keep screenshotting.”
That had been the unspoken agreement,no big talks, no heavy topics, just music low in the background and the road stretching endlessly ahead of you. Luke drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on his thigh. You sat beside him, knees pulled slightly toward your chest, staring out the window like the answer to everything might be hidden somewhere between mile markers.
Two hours in, the silence stopped being comfortable.
It started to feel loud.
Luke adjusted the volume of the music, then turned it down again. He cleared his throat once. Twice.
You noticed. Of course you did.
“You can just say it,” you murmured.
Luke glanced at you. “Say what?”
“That you want to talk.”
He exhaled slowly. “I didn’t say that.”
You turned toward him. “You didn’t have to.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “We don’t have to talk right now.”
You let out a small, tired laugh. “Luke… we’re driving for six hours. We absolutely have to.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Or we could not.”
You studied his profile,the way his brow furrowed, the way his grip tightened just a little on the steering wheel.
“You’ve been weird,” you said gently.
He scoffed. “I’m always weird.”
“Not like this.”
Silence again.
Then he muttered, “You’ve been weird too.”
You swallowed. “I know.”
That was the problem. You both knew.
The conversation had been hovering between you for weeks,maybe longer. Every time it tried to surface, one of you changed the subject, kissed the other quiet, or found something else that suddenly needed attention.
Because talking about the future meant acknowledging that it was coming whether you were ready or not.
Luke finally spoke again. “Can I ask you something?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He hesitated. “And you have to answer honestly.”
Your stomach tightened. “Okay.”
He took a breath. “Do you ever think about… what happens next?”
You didn’t answer right away.
Luke glanced at you. “That wasn’t supposed to be that hard.”
You sighed. “I do.”
He nodded once. “Me too.”
Another pause.
“And?” he prompted.
“And it scares me,” you admitted. “Because every time I think about it, I don’t know if we’re… on the same page.”
Luke’s fingers flexed around the steering wheel. “What page do you think I’m on?”
You shrugged, staring at your hands. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
He swallowed. “Okay. Then let me ask this differently.”
You looked at him.
“Do you see me in your future?” he asked quietly.
Your heart skipped. “Luke,”
“Just answer,” he said. “Please.”
“Yes,” you said immediately. “Of course I do.”
He let out a breath that sounded almost relieved. “Okay. Good.”
“But,” you added softly, “I don’t know how.”
That made him glance at you again. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… your life is already moving so fast,” you said. “Your career. Your schedule. Your cities. Sometimes it feels like I’m just… trying to keep up.”
Luke frowned. “I never want you to feel like that.”
“I know,” you said. “But feelings don’t always listen.”
He was quiet for a long moment.
“Is that why you pull away when I talk about plans?” he asked.
You nodded slowly. “I’m scared that if we actually say it out loud, one of us will realize it doesn’t fit.”
Luke’s chest tightened. “You think I’d decide you don’t fit?”
“No,” you said quickly. “I think I might decide I don’t.”
He looked pained at that.
“You fit with me,” he said firmly. “You always have.”
You met his gaze. “Then why do you avoid the conversation too?”
He swallowed. “Because I’m scared of the opposite.”
You blinked. “The opposite of what?”
“That I’ll want you in my future more than you want me in yours,” he admitted. “And that I’ll scare you away by saying it.”
Your breath caught.
“Luke…”
He shook his head. “See? This is why we don’t talk about it.”
“No,” you said, voice steady despite the racing in your chest. “This is why we should.”
The road stretched on, the hum of the tires filling the space.
Luke finally said, “I don’t need everything figured out. I just need to know we’re moving in the same direction.”
You nodded. “I want that too.”
“Then what’s stopping us?”
You stared out the window again. “Fear.”
He snorted softly. “Yeah. Same.”
Another mile passed.
Then another.
Luke spoke again, quieter this time. “I picture things sometimes.”
You glanced at him. “Like what?”
“Coming home to you,” he said. “Not just after games. After everything. Cooking dinner. Fighting over dumb stuff. Falling asleep on the couch.”
Your chest warmed. “You really think about that?”
He shrugged. “More than I probably should.”
You smiled faintly. “I do too.”
He looked surprised. “You do?”
“Yes,” you said. “I just… didn’t know if it was allowed.”
Luke let out a breathy laugh. “Allowed by who?”
“By reality,” you said.
He shook his head. “Reality’s overrated.”
You laughed softly.
Then you grew serious again. “Luke… if we do this,if we actually talk about the future,it’s not just words anymore.”
“I know.”
“It means commitment,” you said. “Change. Compromise.”
“I know,” he repeated.
“And uncertainty.”
He glanced at you. “I live in uncertainty.”
You smiled sadly. “Yeah. I guess you do.”
The car slowed slightly as traffic thickened.
Luke spoke carefully. “I’m not asking you to promise me forever.”
You nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m asking if you’re willing to walk forward with me,” he said. “Even if we don’t know exactly where we’re going yet.”
Your eyes stung.
“I am,” you said softly. “I just need to know you won’t leave if I stumble.”
He scoffed gently. “I stumble all the time.”
You laughed. “You know what I mean.”
He reached over then, resting his hand on your knee. Warm. Steady.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Not without you.”
You covered his hand with yours. “Okay.”
“Okay?” he echoed.
“Okay,” you repeated. “We stop avoiding it.”
He smiled slightly. “Deal.”
“And we talk,” you added. “Even when it’s uncomfortable.”
“Especially then,” he said.
You leaned back in your seat, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.
The road was still long.
The future still uncertain.
But for the first time, it didn’t feel like something chasing you.
It felt like something you were walking toward,together.
Luke squeezed your knee gently. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for not running.”
You smiled. “Thanks for catching me when I almost did.”
