Yk The Stress Is Bad When I’m Doing My Homework To Calm Down

Godzilla in Montreal!

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so so so good

play me like a deck -- if you call, i'll fold [mb.12]

pairing: matt boldy x hughes cousin! reader

nickname: sunshine

word count: 19.1k

summary: You've always loved spending summers with your cousins. But since you were forbidden from dating Jack's "no-good" buddies, there's been one big problem -- a 6'2, Massachusettan problem. And since you have a problem, well, everyone else should too.

warnings: swearing, light making out, fakeout enemies and very real idiots to lovers, super nosy NTDP boys

author's note: Celebrating the beginning of summer by dropping my longest fic (to date) and beginning my first series! Welcome to Lake House Summers, friends. :D [P.S. This takes place over a rough timeline in '23. Throwback.]

Summer is, without a doubt, your favorite time of the year. Always has been. When you were younger, it would mean vacationing with Auntie Ellen, her husband Jim and their three sons – your beloved cousins – and being involved in the whirlwind that is the life of a Hughes. 

As you got older, summer turned into vacations with friends and visiting the Hughes family in Michigan. And once the boys went pro, summertime was your one-way ticket to their lake house, where you had a room meant just for you. It was pretty heavenly. 

Sure, you did a lot of the cooking for them especially during that first year and the decorations just screamed “man-house” despite your and Auntie Ellen’s best attempts to redecorate (or decorate at all). And yes, the house was overrun with hyperactive young men all the time since the Hughes’ college or developmental program friends visited. But you love the place. 

And it’s undeniably fun, living on the lake for a month or so before retreating back to college or your parents’ home in Texas. So when your college graduation gift from the boys is the offer of an entire summer at the lake house, you don’t hesitate to pack your summer clothes and move. 

This is your last summer before you face real adulthood. You’re the first of the cousins to graduate, and you’re pretty sure you will be the only one to complete college in person – Luke having recently signed with the Devils and all. 

Quinn has the decency to warn you in advance that they’ll have a revolving door of friends this year, even if you expect it. And you can feel the excitement build as you drop your mom off at Auntie Ellen’s to make the last stretch of the drive all by yourself, like you’ve been doing since the lake house became a thing. By the time you pull the car into the driveway, you’re practically buzzing. 

You don’t bother grabbing your suitcases from the car – even if it’s not one of your cousins who gets them for you, one of the boys will. The first person you see inside the door practically gets tackled in a hug. Lucky for everyone involved, it’s one of the ones related to you. 

Jack laughs, using your momentum to spin you around in the foyer before making sure you land safely on your feet. 

“Yo, Sunshine’s here!” he calls out to the rest of the house, and while you would love a whole crowd to emerge from the woodwork, it’s really just Quinn and Josh. Quinn wraps you in a tighter but less energetic hug than his younger brother. Josh just nods at you. 

“Moose would come greet you,” your eldest cousin explains, “but he’s exercising his right to sleep in past noon. Josh and I are gonna take the boat out for a spin, Jack can get your stuff if you wanna come with.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I didn’t drive up in my swimsuit. You and Josh have fun. I’ll make sure pretty boy over here doesn’t get hurt carryin’ all my crap.” 

You can feel Jack roll his eyes at that, but Quinn smiles fondly as he and Josh head back toward the dock. Jack leads you the other way, back out to your car so he can grab your big bags like the gentleman Auntie Ellen raised him to be. You bump his shoulder with yours. 

“So,” you ask playfully, “Who’s coming to see me first?”

“That would be Josh.”

“Besides him.”

Jack shrugs. “Some of Luke’s friends, I guess. Most of my buddies can’t make it out until later.” 

Your cousins, bless them, are still pretty normal guys. They don’t care much for the specifics of planning. In the summer, that often falls to you. Parties, room assignments, grocery lists (brand names and quantities included) – all yours. 

Also all yours? One of the bedrooms in the “east wing” of the house. It was the one place where your input on decorations had been taken, and now it’s a warm, light-filled sanctuary in a house almost entirely decked out in shades of gray, black and brown. 

You let yourself fall onto the fluffy, pastel yellow bedspread as Jack sets down your suitcases, taking in the feeling of being home. It’s not all there, not yet, and it won’t really be until the house is littered with hoodies and half-finished drinks belonging to who knows, until you’ve kicked a lot of butts in a few rounds of your favorite card game. 

“Sunshine?” you hear your youngest cousin ask blearily from outside your room. 

Sitting up with a squeal, you give him just enough time to rub the crusties out of his eye, and then attack him just like you did Jack. 

“Lukey! Welcome to the land of the living,” you tease, standing on tiptoe to ruffle his curls. “Big league did a number on you, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, turning a little pink. But you know he’s proud that you acknowledged his promotion. His next words are quiet but you hear them loud and clear. “...missed you.”

So he gets one last squeeze for being sweet before you release him to hunt down some afternoon breakfast, and your last summer of freedom officially begins. 

You get a blissful few weeks of peace with your cousins. Josh leaves after a week or so with a promise to try and come back before the summer is over. Luke’s reunions with each of his college teammates warm your heart, despite the fact that they would never admit just how much they missed each other. You get plenty of time on the boat, roaming the town running errands while the boys golf, and teaching the youngins how a game of Scum is played (and lost) before the storm arrives. 

Jack’s friend Matt Boldy is, unfortunately, the first of his many friends to show up. He just happens to be the only one you don’t get along with, too. You hear the knock from the kitchen and head out with the intention of greeting someone who’s almost as much your friend as your cousin’s, but you watch his face drop at the same time as yours through the glass door. 

“Where’s everybody else?” you ask when you open the door. 

“Coming later,” is all he says gruffly as he squeezes in, avoiding you as much as possible. 

“Great,” you drawl, shutting the door back. “Enjoy your stay.” 

And with that, you head back into the kitchen to finish putting away dishes. You hear Jack greet his buddy, having appeared from wherever he was. Somehow, his brothers have ended up in the kitchen – probably searching for snacks. It seems they can tell that your mood has dropped. 

They know why, too. 

“Why do you hate Matt so much?” Luke asks through a mouthful of chips, hand already in the bag for more. 

“That’s ridiculous,” you say. “I do not hate Matthew.”

Luke starts to point out that it’s implied in the way you call him by his full name unlike literally everyone else, especially here, but Quinn cuts him off. 

“You two have been antagonizing each other for years. Why?” 

“Because he hates me, and I’m reacting.” You shrug as you say it, wiping off a bowl as you put it in a cabinet. 

Luke finally manages to get a word in. “But you, like, hated him as soon as you met him.”

“Jack was really excited to introduce you guys. Thought you would get along so well,” Quinn notes, getting up to put his glass in the sink. “It’s not like you have to, of course, but-” He cuts himself off with a shrug when you turn to glare at him. 

The three of you are quiet for a moment, but the peace is shattered by the entrance of Luke’s last remaining friend, Dylan, and Jack and Matt. 

“Who’s ready to go out on the boat?” Jack asks, and the group scatters. 

You’re off to change – you spent the morning cleaning up from the last couple days of cooking, so it’s not your responsibility to help out with the boat today. Unfortunately, your stop in the kitchen to refill the designated “boat cooler” does make you the last one out to the dock.

Matt turns to Jack and makes some snarky comment about leaving you behind as you approach. Dylan sees the murderous look on your face, so he gets up and takes the seat left by Matt instead of making you do it. Because he’s a good kid. 

The afternoon on the boat goes like it usually does whenever you and Matt are there – he “accidentally” rocks the boat while you’re standing on the back so you fall off, you distract Luke while he’s driving which might happen to throw Matt from his wakeboard before he can really get going. 

From your perch on the back bench to tan, a shadow falls over you not long after the boat stops to pick him up. You pull your sunglasses up to sit on your head, smiling innocently at the man blocking your sun. 

“Have a fun run, Matthew?” you ask, but he scoffs. 

“You got me knocked off on purpose.” At his words, you feel more than see the other boys glancing back at you from their conversation. 

“As if. I wasn’t even driving,” you reason, trying to shift back into the sunlight. Matt’s frown deepens, but he knows he can’t push it too far without intervention. Everyone else is well aware that you two get volatile in each other’s presence. Dylan still seems a little nervous even now. 

So he decides to flick water on you instead, stepping over your legs and plopping down on the seat by your feet because he knows you can’t stay comfortable with him so close. 

Boat time ends when Luke starts complaining about being hungry. You volunteer to help cook because you’re sick of cleaning, but only after you shower. Jack’s going to play sous chef because he wants to learn some new recipes. 

Everyone helps dock the boat and unload as is customary, but you notice Matt makes a beeline for the house. You squint at his retreating figure. If he’s far away and your vision’s blurry, your cousins are right – he does kinda look like your type. Jack says something to you, so you shake off the thought. 

The shower is already running in the bathroom across from your room by the time you get there, so you think maybe someone’s been a gentleman and started it for you. But when you knock on the door after grabbing clean clothes, you hear differently. 

“Occupied!” Matt’s distinctive accent calls, though it’s muffled through the door. 

You’re a grown adult and way too mature to be throwing an entire tantrum about this. So you stomp your foot once, sigh, and go steal Luke’s bathroom. And you don’t think at all about Matt making a point to steal your bathroom.  

Everyone heads off to nap or something after Luke and Dylan clean up (though it’s really a group effort). You spend your time on the deck with a novel you’ve been meaning to finish. As much as you love the boys, they’re not ideal companions for reading about romance. 

It sounds like one of the doors opens while you’re out there, but by the time you finish your paragraph and look up, it’s closed again. 

Eventually, Jack comes outside to get you. 

“Hey, Scum Queen,” he teases, pushing down your book so you look at him. “Ready to beat us all?”

“I don’t know about all,” you say, reminding him that while the rest of them were known to lose, Matt is known for his upset wins. Which, of course, tends to upset you specifically. 

Jack takes a seat on the chair next to you, his smile dropping a little. “I was wondering about that, actually.”

“Don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Jackie, I can teach you to play the game but I can’t teach you the inherent greatness that you and your brothers forgot to pluck from the gene pool.” 

“Not that.” And he still sounds serious, so you slip your bookmark back into your book and really look at him. “Did Matt ever do something, to make you… dislike him the way you do?”

You shrug, shaking your head a little. 

“Nothing serious, I promise,” you reassure your cousin with a smile, because you know if Matt really had done something bad he’d be out of the house and fast. “Just beat me at my game and all, you know? We’ve never really gotten along.”

Jack shoots you a look, like I know, and you know he does. Maybe better than anyone. 

“Why?” you ask softly. 

“I just wanted to make sure since you two can barely be in the same room together and all. Never known you to be like this, Sunshine,” he notes. 

You shrug again. “Never known anyone else who brings it out of me like he does.” 

And the two of you leave it at that, because you both know sometimes things work and sometimes they just don’t. 

“So,” Jack starts again. “Are you in the mood to win a card game?”

“Maybe,” you tease, but let him help you out of your lounge chair anyway. 

Three days later, Jack is on the verge of tearing his hair out during the final hours of Cole and Alex’s drive up. You and Matt have definitely been worse this summer, he’s decided, even though both of you have confessed now that you’re not even sure why this whole feud started. 

His only reprieve was Luke taking you along to visit his parents for the morning, so you could catch up with your beloved Auntie Ellen. But you would be back soon enough, and the bickering would resume. 

He can only hope that Cole and Alex arrive first. 

He’s a fool for thinking that it could happen. 

Jack is pacing around the foyer, conveniently avoiding Matt. Matt, who bounds down the stairs at the same time as Jack hears a car pull into the driveway. And they both know Alex and Cole won’t be here until mid-afternoon, which is why nobody went out for long-term activities today. When the car door shuts, Matt squares his shoulders. Jack just sighs. 

You bound in, freezing when you see your cousin’s friend. But you’re in such a good mood you choose to ignore him. 

“This is from your mama,” you tell Jack, then give him a big hug. “She sends her love and, for whatever reason, luck.” Jack knows why. “Anyway, I’m gonna go get ready and head back out. See y’all later!”

Luke comes in as you’re bouncing up the stairs to your room. He sees Jack and Matt watching you leave, looks of confusion on both their faces. If he didn’t know any better, he would say that Matt is hurt by the lack of attention he’s gotten from you today. But Luke knows better. And he will never say that out loud… to you or Matt, anyway. 

“She picked up a date at the store,” he says simply, holding up the few grocery bags in his hands, then continues on into the kitchen. 

He ignores the back deck door slamming a minute later.

Cole and Alex are there with everybody else when you get back that night, gathered around the firepit in the backyard. You slip on a hoodie over your sundress before heading out to join them, grabbing a beer for yourself from the basement fridge on the way. 

“Hey, guys!” you call as you approach, tousling Alex’s hair once you get close since he has his back to you. “How was the drive?” 

Ever the sweetheart, Cole is on his feet right away to envelop you in a hug. 

“Good, Sunshine, it was good. How was your date?” he replies, wiggling his eyebrows and emphasizing the last word. 

You shrug coyly, giggling at his goofiness. There’s always been a lighthearted, playful and flirty edge to your relationship with most of Jack’s friends, and you’re not about to let a one-off date ruin that. You’ll complain to Luke later that the guy made you pay for ice cream, and he looked down on Texans, and that he hated hockey and none of that could ever work with you. 

“We were just discussing going out to golf on Tuesday once Trev flies in, if you wanna join,” Quinn offers, knowing you’ll smile and politely decline like normal. 

“It’s okay, I might be busy anyway,” you say softly. 

The boys ooh, assuming it’s with the guy you were just with, but really you might be going shopping with Auntie Ellen. They don’t have to know that, though. You notice one in particular – sitting across the fire, avoiding your gaze – sipping his beer quietly. It would be reasonable if Quinn seemed to be the one who had a problem with you going out on dates, or even Jack, but Matt? Really?

Luke scoots over toward Matt to make room for you on his bench, so you join him and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. 

“So, do we have any plans for the fourth yet?” you question, trying to change the topic. 

The Fourth of July being on a Tuesday makes it a bit awkward, but there’s normally a party. Maybe hosted, maybe attended, but honestly hosting is easier. You always know exactly where to escape, and you know the bedrooms aren’t being used for escapades because they’re always locked. 

This simple inquiry launches the boys into a debate, one that you know will be heavily influenced by Trevor later. The single boys usually want to find a party; the taken ones like having the party come to them. Oddly enough, though, Matt is leaning toward host with Quinn, Luke, and Alex. 

You’ve been hoping to get a little fling out of the summer – being your last one of complete freedom and all – so your early vote says go out. Jack’s mouth smiles, but his eyes look nervously over the fire. 

“Why do you wanna go out, Sunshine?” Luke nudges you, talking low to avoid putting all the attention on you. 

“I dunno, maybe I don’t feel like cleaning up this year,” you tease, elbowing him back. 

Cole leans over and throws an arm around your shoulder, cheering about the fact that you’re on his and Jack’s side. Everyone assumes that Trevor will be, too, leaving you all at a stalemate and giving Quinn a great excuse to push the conversation back until it can be properly debated. 

Eventually, conversation dies out and someone suggests heading inside to play some games. There’s a ping-pong and a pool table in the basement, next to an old-fashioned blackboard divided into five columns. 

These columns, ultimately, are the lifeblood of the summer in a house full of men who literally live to compete. The categories are: Games Won (Pool), Games Won (Basketball), Games Won (Ping-Pong), Wakeboarding Time Record, and Current Scum Winner/Loser (under which it is usually declared to be Queen Sunshine complete with a smiley face and several exclamation points, and some other poor soul). 

You’re not ready to lose the title to Matt in front of everybody, so you let emerging pool champion Luke sway the conversation in his favor. But when you’re paired up with Quinn against him and Matt for a teams game, well, you refuse to add a tally to either of their names in the “Games Won” column.

The morning that Trevor is supposed to fly in, you wake up early. Which is pointless, because even if you do end up going along to pick him up from the airport he won’t even get in until almost noon. Like any self-respecting Hughes would do, you make for the kitchen. It may be hours until someone else joins you on the main level. Still, can’t hurt to start cooking. That might bring you a companion. 

You start with the eggs because they’ll reheat just fine. Even during the offseason, the boys tend to eat pretty healthy. Minus snacks and the occasional pizza. Nobody will mind if you finish the carton – leftovers aren’t a worry when you have this many hockey players in a single house. 

A tall shadow appears from the same direction that you came from, and you get your hopes up that it’s your baby cousin, coming to save you from loneliness. 

But it’s just Matt, half awake and looking grumpy as ever. You stay quiet, watching him perk up at the smell of scrambled eggs. 

“Those for anyone to take?” he asks softly. You nod. His response is even harder to hear, but you catch it. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“You’re welcome.”

The room stays quiet for a few minutes as he scoops a serving for himself and scarfs them down just standing across from you at the island counter. It’s kind of nice, having someone around in the early hours. Even if it’s someone that you wouldn’t normally picture there. 

He offers to help right around the time that you replace his portion of the eggs. 

“Do you even know how to cook?” you tease gently, not wanting to break whatever this new, fragile thing in between you is. 

“Yes!” he says, offended. “Kinda.”

“Ever heard of bell peppers?” He folds his arms, making an incredulous face at you. You’re surprised at how endearing it is in the soft morning light, but push the thought away. “Can you grab me some from the bowl over there?” You point to the other counter with your chin, getting the fridge ingredients yourself. 

He grabs all three – red, yellow, and green – and when he turns back to you, they’re being tossed from one hand to the other almost rhythmically. It makes you smile. 

“I didn’t know you could juggle,” you note, catching the green pepper that he tosses your way without dropping either of the other two. 

“How much do you think you know about me, Sunshine?” There’s a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice, the smallest trace of a smile on his lips. Once again, you have to force yourself to stop thinking that you could get used to interacting with him like this regularly. ‘Cause that’s not how it’s gonna be once literally anyone else comes into the kitchen. 

“Enough,” you answer, adding quickly as to not ruin the current mood, “As much as I know about any of my cousins’ other friends that spend a ton of time here.” 

He hums almost dismissively, and you bristle. Whether it was kind of a cop-out answer or not, it’s the only answer you have. 

“Alright,” you say, leaning back against the fridge while your omelet cooks. “What do you know about me, Matthew? I’m intrigued.” You give him a moment to think. 

“I know you like romance novels,” he offers with a one-shouldered shrug. It takes a minute before he continues. “And that you complain about having to clean, or cook or whatever but you really love taking care of your cousins. I know that you’re insanely competitive, maybe even more than the boys.”

The worst part is that none of it is wrong. He nailed you and your character, nonchalant, like knowing you almost intimately was just another day for him. And you hate it. 

“Your food is burning,” he says, then, pushing himself away from the counter to get a drink behind you in the fridge. 

You scramble for your omelet, hurriedly tossing in the cut-up peppers and ham that you prepared. And you pretend that a shiver doesn’t go up your spine when he puts his hand on your back and moves you so the fridge door doesn’t push you into the stovetop. 

“I’m getting a hoodie,” you announce suddenly. “Don’t ruin my breakfast, please.” Then you run off, nearly bumping into a half-awake Quinn during your escape. 

When you come back, your omelet is cooked and folded to perfection, already on a plate. But Quinn’s the only person left in the kitchen — and he can’t do that to save his life.

You don’t go with Jack and Cole to pick up Trevor from the airport. Instead, you stay and work on your tan on the boys’ little personal beach. Part of that time is spent lying on your stomach, book open but barely looked at. 

If asked, you would say it’s not your fault that the boys decided to play catch or whatever outside and shoot a wink at Alex mid-sentence. 

Luckily, Trevor’s grand entrance prevents that from happening. He comes out of the basement door, carrying a case of beer and yelling something weird. It’s an inside joke, if you have to guess. The beer gets left on a table so he can make the rounds. 

He high fives or daps up or whatever all of the guys as he makes his way across the yard to you. Of Jack’s friends, he’s easily the flirtiest. And while it’s fun for the both of you, it means absolutely nothing – you help him scout for girls that are entirely unrelated to his buddies at parties. He even admits in front of everyone else that you’re the best wingman to him. Wingwoman. Whatever. 

You get to your feet when he gets close, holding your arms up for the inevitable hug. 

“Hey, Sunshine,” he greets you, flirty tone making you giggle. 

“Hi, Trev,” you say, looping your arms around his neck so he can pick you up and spin you around. He doesn’t disappoint, arms tight around your waist to keep you secure. “How was Cali this year? Get enough pretty girls to feed your ego or do you still need my help finding more?”

He laughs, boisterous as usual. 

“Okay, separate!” Jack orders from across the yard, making the two of you laugh even more. 

Trevor lowers you back to the ground to satisfy your cousins, but he grabs your book and carries it inside for you, talking all the while. And you miss the glare from the other side of the yard, but Trevor doesn’t.

The next night, everyone gathers around the kitchen table for a game of Scum. You’ve only lost twice since you arrived for the summer, and both times you regained your title by the end of the night. 

Jack swears you’re a card counter. Quinn shakes his head in resignation and calls it magic. Luke just huffs, but laughs at his brothers’ frustration. He already owns a game; he doesn’t care. 

“So,” Trevor starts, leading the game easy with a single 4. “Sunshine.” You look up at him from beneath your lashes, playing innocent. Because who knows what he’s going to say next, really? “How was your second date today?”

A harmless enough question, but entirely incorrect and he’s definitely asking on someone else’s behalf. Probably Jack. Who absentmindedly lays down a single five. 

You glance at your hand. There is a king, but you’re hoping to save him for later. This better not get too high. 

“There wasn’t one,” you say simply. “I went shopping.”

“Ooh, for us?” Cole teases as Alex mercifully lays down a six, and you wink at him obligingly. 

“Definitely. Y’all’re gonna love my outfits on the Fourth.” 

Trevor raises an eyebrow, but gets distracted by Matt playing two sevens. Luke can’t top it, and neither can Cole. You sigh when you’re forced to play your pair of nines. 

Quinn has to pass too. 

You lose your crown to Matt that night, just like the first summer you met. And just like that first loss, you lose hard. For a couple of games it looks like there’s a chance to steal it back, but Jack cuts it out from under you and immediately loses it back to Matt. At least you’re no longer the scum by the time everybody’s sick of the game. 

Later on in the night, Trevor brings something vodka-infused with a straw in it to aid in your dramatic recovery on the deck. Just like Jack had last week, he plops onto the lounge chair next to you. The two of you sit in silence for a minute while you nurse your drink. 

“Trying to show off for someone, Sunshine?” he asks eventually, only looking at you from the corner of his eye. “I sure hope it’s not that guy who hates hockey and your lovely Southern charm.”

“I’m gonna kill Luke,” you say, but there’s no force behind it. 

Trevor raises his hands defensively. “We’re just lookin’ out for you, kid.” 

“You, Jack and Luke are younger than me.”

He waves off the notion, leaning in with a mischievous grin. 

“So who is it, Sunshine? I know it’s not me, and Turcs has a girlfriend this summer. That leaves two people and you’ve got the most casual platonic relationship I’ve ever seen with one of ‘em.” 

You roll your eyes, hating the blush creeping into your cheeks. 

“I’ll give you this, Trev – he’s physically my type, but I will never get over him being him to explore that. I promise,” you say, pulling the straw out of your drink and tilting your head back to gulp down the rest. “Now, if you don’t have anythin’ else important to tell me, I think I’ll be heading on in for the night.” 

You almost bump into Matt himself as you walk in – he’s leaning out the door like he was going to say something. He does not get out of the way in time, and you barely manage to stop yourself from crashing into him. 

There’s a moment where both of you are frozen. You’re looking up at him, he’s blinking down at you. He’s kind of leaning over you, one arm propping him up on the door frame, and Trevor is definitely reacting behind your back. 

“I was, uh, Trevor… game inside?” Matt stumbles over his words like you’ve never seen, gesturing at your mutual friend and back towards the kitchen table. 

Trevor must nod or something, because Matt starts stepping inside like he’s satisfied. You kind of have to move in sync to avoid touching him, the way the two of you are positioned in the doorway. Still, your arm accidentally brushes his ribs. Goosebumps raise immediately. If you’re not mistaken, he reacts too. 

“Um, goodnight, Matthew,” you mumble, and then you’re gone. 

The next couple of days pass quickly and relatively quietly. All of Jack’s friends are happy to be back together for a bit. You spend more time with Quinn and Luke. Though, of course, the three of you are always invited to things. Like golfing today, which was turned down in favor of a day on the lake. 

During a quieter period where there are more boats around and nobody can wakeboard, the three of you sit and talk. Mainly about the party on the Fourth, which unfortunately you are hosting this year. 

“Trevor did not come through,” you complain from your spot on the back of the boat. 

“Not for you,” Luke says, cringing as soon as he gets the last word out. Quinn shoots him a look, which unfortunately for them you know means shut up. You sit all the way up immediately. 

“What did you guys do?” you ask slowly. 

Neither of them answer you, which means they definitely did do something. Luke even avoids your eyes. 

“Did you bribe Trevor?” 

“No!” Luke scoffs, failing miserably at lying. (You find out later that Quinn has a local friend who only attends parties at the Hughes lake house, and he begrudgingly promised to talk up Trevor if the party happened to land at home.)

You fall back onto the seat, draping an arm across your forehead. 

“Quinn, did you really not want to go out that bad?” you try, focusing on your elder cousin. 

He shrugs, muttering some lame excuse like he likes hosting or something because he can make sure everyone stays safe. 

“Luke?”

“I can’t always get away with drinking at other parties,” he explains. “No one cares here.” 

“You guys have betrayed me today,” you declare, and that’s the end of the conversation. 

Even though it’s not actually July yet, someone made the brilliant decision to shoot fireworks out from the big lake island on the Friday night before the fourth. It’s not even sarcasm when you say that – you’re looking forward to everyone being on the boat together, watching the light show. 

The guys seem pretty pumped about it too, gathering a variety of beers and snacks in advance. Jack scolds Trevor for offering you his hoodie when you shiver on the way out to the dock. You end up wearing an old one of Jack’s, but somehow that still puts a smug look on Trevor’s face. 

Your flip-flops don’t have much traction, so you slip when you’re climbing on the boat. You close your eyes, waiting to feel the cold water catch you – but someone grabs your hand. When your eyes open up again, Matt is holding onto you. Panting a little bit, like he’d sprinted across the boat to get to you. But he wouldn’t. Right?

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly as he pulls you closer – back into a safe and fully upright position on the boat. 

You nod wordlessly, gaze lowering to where his hand still holds yours. He remembers, too, lets go and scratches his neck awkwardly. Then he walks away without another sound. 

Trevor sidles up to you instead, asking if he can join you in your usual spot on the back bench. Of course he can, so he escorts you to your seat and hands you a blanket in case you get cold. The boat ride out to the middle of the lake is quick, jovial. You and Matt are completely avoiding each other, so there’s no fighting. 

You look around in the brief, dark moments before the fireworks start. Quinn drove so he stays in the driver’s seat, Jack has forced you into the middle of the bench and claimed your other side protectively. Luke sits alone behind the driver’s seat, comfortable in between his brothers. Matt, Cole and Alex are on the bench on Trevor’s other side, but even with the proximity you barely notice his presence. 

You’re too caught up in the moment to worry about it, listening to the boys talk amongst themselves with a content smile on your face. 

“They’re starting!” Cole calls and points in the direction of the lights, making everybody turn their heads or twist in their seats. 

It’s beautiful – sparkling golden lights reflecting over the lake, distorting in the surface as small waves rock the boat gently. They’re the kind that audibly crackle and fizz out as they disappear into the dark, fading away with a beautiful grace. You start to think maybe it’s a shame that you all miss the fireworks every year just for the sake of a party. 

The next round is oranges, greens and purples like Mardi Gras. They’re bigger, louder, a bit more rapid-fire than the simple golds. 

It’s pretty, but you’re definitely more of a golden sparkler fan. You make a mental note to ask if someone is willing to get sparklers for the party. It’ll make you feel better. 

Your gaze wanders over the lake, watching the reactions from other boats full of people who seems to be enjoying the fireworks as much as the boys. A hush has fallen over the normally loud lake. Kids and adults alike wait in wonder with their eyes to the sky. 

Even Jack, the most energetic of your cousins, has fallen still beside you. Finally, your eyes find Matt. He’s hardly looking at the fireworks.

The whole world seems to flash red as your eyes meet his in the semi-dark. The next firework is white, shedding enough light to illuminate the deep blue staring back at you. Then the fireworks, too, turn everything blue with their shine. 

Alex points out some of the firework debris as it falls and your spell is broken. Both you and Matt try to follow where Alex is pointing with your eyes. As you lean forward for a better view, you feel Trevor reach for Jack behind your back. 

They seem to be disagreeing about something quietly instead of watching the show, which is now themed around patriotic colors. 

But they’re putting in effort to not be obvious about it, so you let it be. If it’s big enough, it’ll come back up later. 

The fireworks go out with a literal bang: one last, giant, super fast explosion of color turning the world red, white and blue, over and over. Cheers go up from the other boats (and yours) as soon as the sky goes dark. 

Cole is singing the show’s praises as Quinn turns the boat around. 

“The way they split it into different sections,” he’s gushing, gesturing wildly to Luke and almost hitting Matt, “just- awesome!” 

The rest of the night fades away in splashes and peals of laughter. You try your best to forget the way your relationship with Matt is shifting around you. 

Early July makes everyone restless. Some of the boys start offseason training. Since he doesn’t, Quinn spends most of his time helping you prepare for the upcoming party. Trevor has plenty of input, but conveniently never has enough time to actually make it happen. 

Your request for sparklers is approved only if you are the one to get them. But you catch Trevor and Cole on some downtime anyway, so they come with you for “liquor and lighters,” as they (incorrectly) become known. They’re even nice enough to let you have the passenger seat instead of Trevor. 

Which, unfortunately, gives him an excuse to sit unbuckled in the backseat of Cole’s car and lean forward to start gossipy conversations. 

“Cole,” he starts in a suspiciously sweet voice. “Have you noticed anything weird this summer?”

Cole seems to know exactly what his friend is on about. 

“Oh yes I have, Trevor. Did you notice something weird?”

“Indeed,” Trevor responds. “I-”

You cut him off. “The only weird thing right now is the way you two are talking. Wanna bring it up like normal people?” 

They exchange a look. A silent battle ensues, and apparently Cole loses. He sighs, running a hand over his face as he brakes for a red light. 

“Fine. Okay. What is up with you and Matt? Like, one minute you guys will do literally anything to spite each other, but the next you’ve made eye contact or accidentally touched each other or something and it’s like dogs who wear a shock collar.”

“It really is so weird,” Trevor pipes up. 

You think about it for a moment. Yeah, that is how on edge the two of you have been lately, but you’re not really sure why. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you eventually say with a shrug. “We’re fighting just like normal.”

“But you’re actually not.” Trevor holds up a finger and says it with such a matter-of-fact tone, you don’t even bother with a response. You only hum dismissively. 

The three of you sit in near-silence for a few minutes. Trevor’s “pre-party” playlist is on low volume in the background. 

All of a sudden, Cole stage whispers, “I think they like each other,” dragging it out in enough of a sing-songy way to be annoying. 

“Shut up!”

“And you don’t wanna tell each other so you’d rather act like kids-” Trevor adds, cut off when you turn in your seat and stick a finger in his face. 

“Zegras, I swear to all that is hockey if you say another damn word about that, the both of you are getting left at the fireworks place so I can watch your arrest live on the news-”

Cole doesn’t let you finish your threat. “Woah, woah! We’re all friends here. It’s just a little crush, we can be civil about it.” You turn your glare on him, and he deflects it to the backseat. “Right, Trevor?”

“It is definitely not a crush,” you mumble, slumping back in your seat. 

They stay quiet about it for the rest of the grocery run, but you know they didn’t listen. 

On the Fourth of July, otherwise known as Party Day, the guys get up early and nap in preparation for the late night. The morning was spent on the lake. You are the one who gets the house ready – setting out bags of chips in bowls, leaving notes detailing the dips and their locations and what bowl to put them in, making sure the public bathrooms are girl-clean and not just boy-clean. 

The event isn’t huge on decorations, but you got stars and stripes patterned napkins and that kinda stuff just for the sake of it. You make a place for them, but since you’ll be getting ready for the party essentially until it starts, actually setting everything out is up to the boys. 

Your cousins know their responsibilities, especially as the main hosts of the party; this has been how the four of you have been delegating it for years. And you always know that when Quinn comes down dressed in red, white, or blue (you have convinced the trio to choose one main color each for five years in a row now), it’s time for you to head back up to your room. You pass Luke on the way. 

“Don’t look too pretty,” he warns, turning on the steps so you know he’s serious. “We’re not gonna want to chase a bunch of broken-hearted guys out of here at the end of this.”

“Aw, thanks Lukey,” you tell him, bending down to kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair. “I’ll try to avoid hurting feelings this year.” 

You practically skip the rest of the way into your room. Conversations float up periodically from the floor below – Trevor fishing for compliments, Cole laying it on too thick with Matt and flustering him, Alex missing his girlfriend. They soon turn into greeting the people who arrive early, bearing fruit trays and extra ice for coolers. 

By the time you’re finished, somebody’s already turned on the big speaker in the living room. It’s later than you meant to be done. Still, you hope that people remembered to set out the dips. 

“Somebody call the fire department, ‘cause we’ve got a smokeshow in the house!” Trevor calls when he sees you coming down the stairs, red solo cup already in his hand. You try to hide your cringe at the smell of jungle juice when he gets near. He hooks an arm around your waist and leans in to whisper, “Fiery redhead by the sink. Thoughts?” 

You give her a onceover as Trevor all but hangs off of you. When your scan is complete, you raise on your toes to tell him, “Showing off pictures of a boyfriend. Try the black-haired girl in the off-shoulder thing by the deck doors.” You pat him on the open-shirted chest and send him on his merry way. 

Luke is almost hiding in plain sight in the living room, talking hockey with some guy whose grandparents have lived on the lake forever. He raises his cup in acknowledgement when you wave at him. 

Jack is busy with, you assume, his next fling, and Quinn is actually playing the part of a good host. 

Matt is nowhere to be found. 

It’s really weird that you have to remind yourself not to be disappointed about that. So you shake it off with a seltzer and start making some friends out of the crowd. There’s a girl you recognize who’s been around for a few summers now, and when Jack excuses himself from his not-gonna-be girlfriend you steal her too. 

The music gets louder the more you drink, the beat more enticing. You probably won’t see these girls after tonight, but for now they are your social buoys. They keep you afloat in the crowd until some guy pulls you in for a dance. It’s just in time for Jack to come back for his girl, too. 

Luckily for you it’s only Trevor. 

“She was more into you,” he murmurs in your ear, unaffected smirk on his face. “I would ask if you’re interested, but I think she’s got some competition.” He points with his eyes over to the wall, where Matt has mysteriously reappeared. 

Some girl is trying her hardest to talk to him, but he won’t turn to look at her fully. 

“He doesn’t have a claim on me, Trev,” you remind your friend, facing him and starting to get into the dance when the song changes. “We don’t even-“

“No, just wishes he did.” His hands land on your waist. Jack would not appreciate this if he saw it, but he vanished not long before Matt showed up. Knowing that the way you do, you turn it up a little more. 

You’ve never gotten to see how good of a dancer Trevor is – might as well take the opportunity. 

A couple songs later, you’ve sent him off toward a late-arriving group of girls with a kiss on the cheek for good luck. If they ask about it, he’s going to say you’re his cousin. You know this is how it works because someone asked you last year. 

This is one of the biggest downsides to hosting the party instead of finding one, you remember. When you get tired, you can’t make it go away. You can’t leave. The best you can do is hide. Your favorite spot is at the edge of the water, so close to the treeline that no one will see you from the yard. 

You grab an extra drink for yourself and smuggle a blanket from the boat stash just in case it’s colder outside than you expect. There are games of cornhole and something else happening on the lawn. The firepit is in use. Quinn might be over there now, actually. Probably starting to wind down a little bit, just like you. 

But someone has wandered over from somewhere, and they’re sitting in your spot. 

The realization almost makes you trip over your shoes. And the sound alerts them to your presence. Not much light manages to reach his face around you, but you don’t need it – you can recognize Matt in the dark by now. 

“Hey,” you greet him, voice dull. “Found my hiding spot?”

“Always knew about it,” is the simple response. 

You choose to ignore the roughness in his tone. “Okay if I sit?”

He just shrugs. So you sit anyway, shoving your drinks into the sand while the blanket falls to the side. Silence falls between you and Matt. You’ve always felt like the nearby trees muffle the sounds from the yard and house, for which you’re grateful. 

Even now.

Matt is the one to speak first. “You and Trevor got something going on?”

Almost petty, you shrug. “Same stuff as always, I think. Nothing special. He’s… not my type.” The confession feels maybe a little too vulnerable for anywhere else. But not here. Here, you’re safe. 

It still gets Matt’s attention. His head turns the slightest bit, trying to see you from the corner of his eye. “He isn’t?”

“Not really.” You punctuate that with a swig of your drink, tilting your head back even farther to drain it when you hear a suspiciously Trevor-like whoop in the distance. It’s not your problem now, and you don’t intend for it to be later, either. 

Even with the revelation, Matt stays quiet. Which is normal for you two. But normal feels kinda… wrong at the minute. 

“You weren’t feeling the party?” you ask after maybe a minute or so of silence, as if talking civilly is a normal activity for the two of you to engage in. 

“Nah. Alex and Cole took over beer pong and Trevor and Jack are caught up with women. Not fun being the odd man out in there.”

“What about Quinn and Luke?”

The corner of his lips – the side closest to you, anyway – twitches. Like he’s holding back a smile. “Actually hosting, thank God.” He pronounces the last word differently than everyone else at the lake house, in that Masachusetts-y way that he still talks even after years away from home because of hockey. You admire that about him. He never completely took on the accent that most of your cousins and their friends seem to imitate, even if subconsciously. “‘d you get tired of holding down the fort too?”

You just hum in response. He’s right on the money, but you can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he is. It seems like he’s aware nonetheless. 

“C’mon, Sunshine, just admit that I know you well enough to know that,” he teases, tilting his head toward you a little bit. 

“Never,” you say back, turning ever so slightly to grin at him. 

He sighs, shaking his head. “We’ll get there someday.”

Your curiosity has successfully been piqued. “Where’s ‘there’?” you question, fully facing him now. 

“Just… better. Along, I guess,” he admits, suddenly acting shy. Matt won’t look at you anymore, only now you want him to. 

Hoping to restore some of the odd comfort that the two of you had before your confession, you let silence fall over your little hiding place. Some silence, anyway. Nothing can completely subdue the sounds of the party. 

When it feels peaceful again, you speak. “We get along well enough, don’t we?”

“Always have to disagree with me, don’t you, Sunshine?” he responds, shaking his head before finally making eye contact again. “Can’t just say that yeah, we could fight in front of the guys a little less or something?”

“Fighting with you is fun,” you shrug. 

“Fun for you, sure,” Matt says, making a face. 

You cut him off before he can continue, pointing a finger at him. “You can’t tell me that you don’t look forward to it, Matthew, I notice you gearing up for it everytime you see me enter the room.”

“That’s because you always pick a fight with me!” he says, louder but not yet loud enough to draw attention to your hiding place. “And I hate being called that!”

“What, by your name? It’s Matthew. You are named Matthew.”

“You know everyone calls me Matt.” 

Only now do you realize how close his face has gotten to yours, why his voice has lowered again in volume but not in intensity. 

And you follow his eyes making their way downward to watch you breathe out, “But to me, you’re Matthew.” 

He mumbles something else, something you can’t hear over the sudden noises of fireworks and excited partygoers. You’re pretty sure, though, that his mouth made shapes for the words ‘kiss’ and ‘right now.’ Furrowing your brows, you try to lean in so he can repeat it, but instead he recoils. 

You mostly hear what he says this time, and you’re pretty sure it’s “I’m tired of this. I’m going inside.” 

Matt walks off into the night, leaving you wrapped in your blanket with more questions than answers. 

Everybody sleeps in late the next day, as expected. You pretend not to hear more than one pair of footsteps making their way out of the house before getting up to make some hangover breakfast. 

A door cracks down the hall, but it closes as soon as yours opens. 

Alex, for some reason, is the only one already downstairs when you get there. But he’s on a phone call. He holds up a hand in greeting before heading out onto the deck. 

Trevor bounces down the stairs after you’ve started a cup of coffee for yourself, in a good enough mood that you know at least something went down last night. But at least he has the decency to wait until you’ve gotten your pick-me-up to start talking about it. 

Except he doesn’t say what you expect him to. At all. 

“Why did you and Matt come out of the same hidden spot at the edge of the yard last night, only like twenty minutes apart or whatever?”

You just groan. That’s too weird of a story to share first thing after you’ve woken up, even if Trevor is great at being a substitute for girl talk. He raises an eyebrow and leans over the island counter. With a dismissive wave of your hand, you turn back to the fridge to find some bacon or something.

He waits until you’ve gotten some food and headed out to the dock with it to press again. 

“So. You and Matt. Something fun happen last night, or…?”

You sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. “I think… we might have almost kissed?” Trevor gasps, grabbing your arm with both hands excitedly. His eyes are wide. “But we didn’t!” you continue insistently. “Just… our faces got really close, and he muttered something I couldn’t hear over the fireworks, and I tried to move so I could hear him and I guess he remembered we’re us so he ran off.” 

“When are you guys going to just admit it?” Trevor asks, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen two people so down bad for each other.” He only gives you like a second to scoff before he’s going on. “Just get together and get over all that other stuff already.”

“I don’t think we can, Trev. Every time I think we might, we just start fighting again. Usually worse.” 

He pats your back a couple of times. It’s awkward. 

“There, there,” Trevor says. “We’ll fix it.” And then he’s moving, up and away, down the dock and back to the house. 

“We?” you call after him. “Trevor, what do you mean we?” 

Just like last night, you never get an answer. 

Except you do. That night, after dinner but before a couple rounds of ping-pong and pool, you’re passing by the stairs to the basement when you hear two voices. Two voices that you’ve come to know pretty well after the past few summers. 

“-Sunshine, she’s just driving me crazy, dude,” Matt is saying. 

And maybe you’re a little too nosy for your own good, so you stop. 

“I can’t be around her without- without-” Trevor must make a face or something, because you can hear the disgust in Matt’s voice. “No, not like that!”

“It’s just like I’ve been saying all along,” your mutual friend tries to tell him. “The two of you would get along so much better if you’d stop acting like kids and just like each other already.” 

You lower yourself to a sitting position on the stairs, listening intently now. 

Matt scoffs. “Never in a million years, Trevor. You’re crazy. She-” He pauses, lowering his voice for the next little bit. Even though you move down a couple of steps, you don’t catch it. “-and I can’t stand it! I can’t stand her. I don’t see how you guys have put up with her all this time, always being here, and- and-” 

You picture him gesturing wildly, like he does when he’s arguing his case during a card game. Except he’s not arguing that a play was legal. He’s arguing about you, and how intolerable you are, apparently. 

He heaves a deep sigh that you can even hear from your spot on the stairs. “I can’t do this anymore, Trevor. I give up. We’re just gonna hate each other forever, and I’ll be an active participant in that.”

Finally – quietly, hesitantly, so unlike either of them – you hear Trevor speak. “Matt, it’s not like you’ve been particularly nice to her, either.” Matt tries to say something again, maybe protest, but your friend stops him. “It takes two people to be nice to each other.”

“We can’t do that, Trevor. You know it as well as I do.”

Something about the resignation in Matt’s voice makes something in your chest twinge. It certainly can’t be your heart, but some part of you feels maybe something akin to sympathy. A similar frustration over the situation. 

There’s a gap between the two of you that formed long ago, and it looks too big now to bridge solely in the name of friendship. At least, you don’t have a clue how to start. 

When you hear a foot land on the bottom stair, you scramble away as quietly as you can. 

There’s supposed to be a storm today. Jack’s been complaining about it all week, and you can hear him complaining about it downstairs now. It’s disrupting any plans he could make – boating, golfing… that’s pretty much it. 

Most of the guys seem to be bothered by the uncertainty of their weather apps more than the storm itself. Jack’s friends don’t have much time left to spend here, and they’re antsy to make the most of what they do have. You’re just relieved by the promise of Matt’s departure, since he evidently can’t even stand being around you. 

It’s not that you’ve always assumed the way that the two of you poke and prod at each other is all in good fun. No, there’s always been some level of real, negative emotion there. But this summer especially, there was something else, too. A mutual understanding, maybe. An almost-friendship. 

You thought that he was starting to feel it too, in the quiet moments between fireworks. When it felt like there was no one else to perform for. 

Apparently you were wrong. 

These thoughts are the first thing you face head-on this morning. Somehow, they’re easier to deal with than your cousin’s whining. Then someone knocks on your door. 

“Are you decent?” Trevor calls through the wood. It would be a nice gesture if he didn’t start opening the door before you’ve really answered. 

“Come on in, I guess,” you say, failing to hide the gloominess in your voice. 

His little half-grin slides off his face. “Oh, man. You’re that upset about the storm too?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not that.” And you don’t want to have to explain it to him, but Trevor was the one Matt chose to talk to. You just pick at your comforter while he comes over to sit next to you. 

“What’s wrong, Sunshine?”

“You can’t tell him,” you say immediately, inwardly cringing at yourself because of course you have to tell Trevor. 

His expression changes to one of understanding quicker than you would have expected. “You heard us talking before the basement games last night.” You nod. He asks something you wouldn’t have expected. “But you were so quiet. What all did you hear?”

“Um, how about that he can’t stand me?” you make finger quotes in the air, your voice raising. “That we’re gonna hate each other forever, apparently, and that I just drive him sooo crazy, don’t I?”

Your friend sighs. His hands go up into the air in a kind of defensive, kind of surrendering way. He starts to talk, then closes his mouth. Finally, he runs his hands through his hair. 

“You’re gonna have to talk that out with him, Sunshine,” he says. “But just know, you’re missing some context.”

You’d really like to press him further, but Luke saves him by poking his head in the door. His brows furrow at something that’s going on in the room, but you don’t know what. “Are you guys coming on the boat?” he questions. 

Trevor interrupts before you can ask where the storm has gone. “We’re taking the boat out?” 

“Yeah, looks like we’ll be clear for a little bit more. Jack wants to get out while we can, so you guys might wanna decide fast.” He starts to leave, but you call him back, shooing Trevor out of the door so he can go get ready for the outing. Trevor doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Is Matt going out on the boat?” you ask urgently. It’s clear that Luke notices how wide your eyes are. Still, he shakes his head. 

“I think he’s out doing something,” your baby cousin tries to offer, but you wave it off. 

“If we’re leaving before he gets back, I’m in.”

Mid-day boating turns into afternoon naps or house-cleaning and cards after dinner. You cheer up as the day goes by, especially since you happen to never be in the same place as Matt. That is, until Jack calls for Scum. 

Matt is the king at the start of the night. He holds the position through two games. 

If you were playing any other game, one where you could spend the entirety of it sabotaging him, you would have taken the seat right next to him. Instead, poor Luke and Cole are playing buffers. 

“I just can’t stand the way you shuffle,” you comment once. “Give me the cards next time, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Think I can handle myself, Sunshine. Just mind your own business for once,” comes the retort through gritted teeth. Quinn and Alex raise their eyebrows. 

By the third and final deal, the two of you have gotten worked up to a point that the others have never seen before. You flick the cards at him so hard that they slide off the table more often than not unless he catches them. He glares back at you, but doesn’t say anything. 

Not until it’s time to lay down his first card. 

“You ever wonder how much better this game would be if everyone could handle not being the king or queen after every round?” he asks Jack next to him. 

“Matt-” Jack starts to say, eyes darting over to you nervously to wait for your reaction. 

You pretend not to hear, just waiting for your turn to lay down your eights and hopefully end the round, but most of the guys can see how infuriated you are. 

Then you lean over to whisper to Cole, “I thought you hockey players were meant to be at least a little competitive.” He does laugh at that. 

Matt narrows his eyes. The next round starts shortly after. 

As the game goes on, people start tapping out as you all go around. You and Matt start taking every opportunity to gripe at each other. 

For a minute, it looks like Matt’s going to beat you. He looks you dead in the eye as he says, “I think my first decree as king is gonna be an exile.”

You suck in a breath. Even if he isn’t saying it outright, you know exactly who that’s directed at. And you can’t say you’re happy about it, but you also can’t say that you wouldn’t kick him out of here right now if you had the power. But you won’t. You never will.

As Quinn takes his turn after you distractedly pass again, you come to a realization: you will never be rid of Matt. As long as he’s friends with Jack, he’s going to stick around.

This antagonistic relationship — whatever’s actually underneath it — can’t last.

So you make him an indirect offer on your next turn, when you lay down a singular ten. “I’m getting kind of tired of this, boys. Maybe we should find a new game, start over and make new rivalries?”

You don’t miss the looks thrown around the table. Least of all, Matt’s brief yet victorious smirk. 

Quinn passes. Alex passes. Trevor lays down a pair of sixes, a playful smile on his lips. He’s the only person at the table who seems so at ease, but even his calm is a farce. Luke passes too. 

Matt makes eye contact with you and only you before he lays his cards down. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to back down.

“Is this just because you’re losing? Spoiler alert: you can’t always be a winner, Sunshine. Not everything is gonna go your way. The sooner you accept that, the better,” he tells you, as he presents his set: the kings of clubs, diamonds, and spades. 

It doesn’t escape you that his trio is heartless. 

Next to him, Jack tenses. Cole’s eyes flick to you. Your skin heats under the lights of the kitchen nook chandelier. Despite your embarrassed blush, you keep a straight face. And you straighten your four remaining cards against the table, nodding to Jack to go ahead with his turn. 

He passes. Poor Cole, eyes darting between you and Matt, double checks his cards. The shuffling sounds like thunder in the silence that’s enveloped the room – no, the entire house. He comes up empty. Matt keeps his steely gaze on you the entire time. 

“You know, I think you forget that at the end of the day life isn’t a competition,” you say, voice tight. “And winning it all is worth nothing if you scare off anyone who might have been close to you.” You take a deep breath before forcing the last sentence out. “Guess we have to learn that the hard way sometimes.”

Your chair screeches on the floor as you stand, shattering the quiet and making almost everyone else at the table flinch. 

“Good luck to the rest of y’all,” you finish simply, tossing your quartet of twos onto the table. “And have a good night.”

With that, you head back through the darkness of the living room and up to your bedroom. Even all the lovely colors you had taken care to fill it with look dark in the dead of night. 

You stay inside your room the next day, though it dawns bright and sunny. You creep out to the empty kitchen at some early hour to smuggle some snacks back up to your room. Hopefully, Luke gets the silent apology you send for depriving him of Cheez-Its for… however long you have them. 

Quinn knocks on the door at some point before noon to ask if you want to come along for something that you half listen to, because they wanna do it before other reasons that you don’t really listen to. No offense to your cousin, of course, but you’re very wrapped up in your wallowing. 

He is given a flimsy excuse and a smile at 75% effort, and that’s all it takes for him to go away. But he can usually tell when you really just don’t want to talk about it. You turn the music back on to cover up the sounds of the boys getting ready to leave and tuck back into your novel. 

Somewhere in the middle of the scramble, you hear someone yelling for someone else to “get a move on, we really don’t have all day”. The noise catches your attention. As you look up from your book, you notice a shadow passing in front of your door. They hesitate, as if they want to come in. There never is a knock like you expect. Instead, the voice yells again and the shadow moves on. You’re pretty sure they’re not calling for Luke. 

The house has been completely empty for a while when you decide to venture out for a little pick-me-up. Unfortunately, your car is trapped in front of Cole’s in the driveway. 44 Scoops is a little out of the way on your bike, but it has the best ice cream around and you deserve some today. You barely notice the sky darkening as you ride. The girl taking the orders greets you warmly.

“Hi, what can I getcha today?” she asks, smile putting her braces on full display. 

“Um, just one vanilla in a cone, please,” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear under your hood. You feel like kind of a weirdo keeping it up, but you really didn’t feel like doing anything with your appearance. 

“We’ll get that right out,” the girl says, then tilts her head at you. “Do you like sprinkles?”

You nod, but feel your eyebrows furrow. It’s kind of a weird question since you didn’t order sprinkles, but she doesn’t say anything else so you fork over a five dollar bill. When she returns to the counter a minute later, your scoop is covered in rainbow sprinkles. 

“It kinda looked like you could use them,” the girl offers, shrugging as soon as the cone is safely in your hand. “I hope your day gets better!”

“Thank you,” you tell her, “Really.”

She smiles one more hot-pink-and-metallic smile at you, then moves on to the next customer. 

And the day does not get better. Almost as soon as you turn toward the door, it starts sprinkling outside. Partway through your ice-cream-and-Instagram-reels binge, your phone dies. The cone melts a little too fast for you, and you get a couple spots on your sweatshirt as you finish it up. 

It takes a miniature pity party just to get the courage to clip your hair up, go outside and get back on your bike. 

Unknown to you, the boys are in a bit of a frenzy at the lake house. They started bringing the boat in when the sky got dark (a little earlier than they planned, even), but it was still raining by the time they got everyone and everything inside. 

Then Luke calls for you to see if you want the late lunch/early dinner that Quinn plans on making, but you never answer. So he heads up to your room just to make sure you’re not asleep or still ignoring everybody, and you aren’t even there. 

“Sunshine’s gone!” he announces when he slides back into the main living area. He’s trying and failing to hide his panic. His brothers exchange a glance that they pretend he doesn’t see, and Jack heads off to double check your room as if Luke is blind. 

Quinn designates places for the other boys to check like they think you might have fallen asleep somewhere and failed to wake up despite all the noise they made coming back. Matt disappears into the basement without a word. Luke’s job now is to tag-team calling you with Quinn until one of them makes contact. 

“I checked literally every bedroom upstairs. No sign of her, but her car’s still here,” Jack announces when he gets back downstairs, picking up his phone to start calling too. “You guys haven’t called Mom yet, right?”

Luke shakes his head. Quinn is too busy pacing around the kitchen table looking out the windows, seemingly under the impression that you might emerge from the tree line at the edge of the property. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Matt come up from the basement and head toward the second floor stairs, still not talking. 

“She’s not up there-” Jack starts to tell his friend, but Matt shakes his head. When he finally speaks, it’s gruff. 

“I’m just grabbing a hoodie,” Matt says. Then he’s gone, taking the stairs two at a time just like Luke did. 

The rest of Jack’s friends re-emerge from the basement and start convening with Jack and Luke when they hear the front door open and shut. Quinn is still getting the dial tone in the kitchen. Cole suggests that you may have gone out for food or something. Trevor pipes up that it could’ve been a need for liquor that drove you out in this weather. 

“I wouldn’t blame her if it was,” Alex comments lowly, and Trevor has the decency to look embarrassed. “Matt went pretty hard on her last night.”

“He knows he was out of line, and I think she does too,” Jack assures everyone. “Not that… I’ve talked to her today, or anything. But I just have a feeling that was the final fight, y’know? Something about it…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Nevermind. I’m probably crazy.”

You’ve successfully gotten yourself most of the way home when you see a familiar car heading your way on one of the many weirdly-named streets following the lakeshore. When you think you’re in their line of vision, you start raising your arm to wave for help. Then you see the face behind the wheel. Your hand drops of its own accord, and you move a step or two farther from the side of the road in case Matt decides he’s feeling extra cruel and wants to splash you or something. 

He turns around somewhere and catches up to you as you’re about to cross the top of a cul-de-sak, cutting you off with a turn onto the street. You frown at the passenger side window, watching it roll down.

“Get in the car, Sunshine,” he says. 

“But-”

“I’m not letting you get sick out here just because you want to stick it to me, okay? You get in here. I’ll get your bike.”

A couple of minutes later, the bicycle has been shoved into the trunk and backseat with an astounding lack of grace, and you’re sitting with your arms crossed up front as Matt turns the car around. The pounding rain almost completely covers up what he says to you as he gets back onto the main road. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“No matter what issues we have, it was fucked of me to bring it up in front of everybody during the game,” he admits. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. And I’m really sorry for whatever I did two years ago to make you hate me like you do, because that was probably pretty fucked too.”

You sigh. “You didn’t… do anything.”

His foot twitches on the brake pedal; you feel the car stutter beneath you. Just like you feel him trying to watch both the road and your face, so you burrow back into your hood and look out your window. 

“I didn’t do anything?” 

“No.”

“Then why do you hate me?”

And you know it won’t be good enough, at all, but you shrug. How do you put it into words that your cousins poked and prodded you about how you would like Matt for almost years before you actually met? That Jack had asked you to not date any of his friends a long time ago and of course you wouldn’t disrespect his wishes, but you definitely agreed that if you were allowed to date this one, you might have gone for it? 

How do you tell someone that you’ve had to hate them because you wouldn’t be allowed to love them?

So you mutter some snappy bullshit like “someone had to,” and try to leave it there. 

“Tell me the truth, Sunshine.” Which is about what you expected. 

“Did Jack or Quinn ever tell you how well they used to think we would get along?” you ask, folding your arms and leaning back in your seat but finally looking at him. He’s definitely been in the car for a bit now, but there are speckles and water marks even from before he got out to shove your bike in the back. 

He thinks for a moment, then nods. “I think Jack said once that we would get along… that everybody loves you and I wouldn’t be any different.” His cheeks turn pink when he realizes the phrasing that he used. One hand automatically flies off the wheel to scratch the back of his neck. “Not that… you know what I mean.”

You only hum in response. 

“What does that have to do with you hating me, though?”

“It was never really hate-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Sure felt like hate.” You stay silent, waiting for him to notice that he’s pissed you off. He doesn’t even have to look over to know. “Sorry, go on.”

“It wasn’t really hate,” you insist, as he turns away from where you’re supposed to go. “It was… the rejection of like. Like how cold is just the absence of heat. You’re going the wrong way.”

“Indifference is the absence of like,” Matt corrects you, a little smug. “And we’re in the middle of a conversation that I don’t think we’re going to be able to have once you get back to that house.”

Your eyebrows furrow. He just nods at his phone, down in the cupholder, and you pick it up. Hold it out to him, but he shakes his head. 

“The boys were worried about you. Get on there – password’s 129453 – and text Jack that you’re okay and I got you.” You quietly do as he says, waiting for another command. “And that we’ll be back soon, but we have to do something first.”

Jack knows it’s you because you told him so and he starts to ask questions. But you don’t have the answer to a lot of them. You just reassure him again that you’re safe, everything’s fine, you just wanted ice cream and there is absolutely no need to call any parents or beloved aunts about this. 

Matt looks over at you, nodding for you to continue your original explanation. The rain keeps beating down on the car, a steady drum to drown out the sound of your heartbeat. 

“Jack called it first,” you say. “Said you were just my type, that we’d get along like a house on fire, that kinda stuff. But he also said, back when he started the program with you and all the other guys, that he didn’t want me dating any of you either.” You laugh, trying to keep the bitterness out of the sound. Maybe you mostly succeed. “Because he knew that hockey players were just that – players.”

Matt purses his lips, but lets you keep talking. 

“And it’s not like I’d be able to get to know any of you without him around, so I kinda just had to take him at his word for it, right?” you continue, feeling yourself starting to ramble. “Then we got here for the first summer. And Jack was right on the money. But I knew that if I really let myself start to like you-” you shrug. “-I’d be doing nothin’ but getting myself hurt by toeing the line that Jack set.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You keep going. “So I tried to ignore you. Not feel anything at all. That didn’t work, but I thought it would still be easier for me if we weren’t… close. I’m sorry that it turned into all this mess. I just wanted to protect myself.” You wrap your arms around yourself, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie up over your hands. 

Matt drives on, silent for a minute. It stretches into two, three minutes until it’s almost comfortable. Then he turns sharply into a gas station parking lot on the corner. The car stays on when he parks away from everybody else on the side of the building, but he unbuckles and twists in his seat to face you. 

“So you’re meaning to tell me – all this time, you just liked me and you were, no offense, a complete pest, as a front?” You nod. 

He collapses back into his seat, running his hands through his hair and accidentally pushing his hood off in the process. It’s hard to ignore his long legs stretching in the little space they have, swim trunks riding up his thighs. 

“You liked me,” he states again, simply. You nod again. His eyes dart to you, tongue tracing his lower lip, cheeks pink. “You… like me?” 

It comes slower this time, and all your nervous energy manifests as your fingers playing with the hem of your sleeves, but you still nod. You aren’t sure that he’s looking at your eyes when you do it. 

Then, he laughs. Your first instinct is to recoil a bit, especially if he’s laughing at your confession. Which would be cruel, but maybe earned. This is probably the worst way you could resolve every conflict from the past two years. It takes genuine effort to keep a straight face. 

“You like me,” he says once more. “Have all this time.” 

Something holds you back from responding, from making a defensive, sarcastic comment that would ruin whatever you’re building or rebuilding here. He speaks again, quieter still, barely audible over the weather outside. 

“That makes so much more sense, looking back.” 

And he looks back up at you, disbelief still written on his face. Then the mask cracks, and he smiles brighter than has ever been directed at you before. 

“You know, one of Luke’s buddies asked me once why we flirted so different from you and all Jack’s other friends,” he admits, making your eyes widen. 

“I mean, I wasn’t really trying to, but-” you stutter, feeling your face turn sunburn-red. 

“If we agree that that’s what all this has been, I gotta say, you flirt like a little boy on the playground,” he teases you. You resist the urge to punch him in the shoulder just hard enough to walk the line of playful and mean. 

“You’re no better!” you exclaim. There’s more you want to say, but Matt shuts you up by grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and pressing his lips to yours over the center console. 

Instead of saying anything else, you sigh into the kiss. One of your hands finds itself slipping into his dark blond hair, tugging on the surprisingly soft strands. His other hand grabs your waist, squeezing ever so slightly. You take his bottom lip in between your teeth. 

“Oh my god, you tease,” he scolds you, (smiling) as he pulls away for a second. If you didn’t know him as well as you somehow do, you’d be disappointed by him cutting you off this quick. 

But he moves his seat back as far as he can, putting space between himself and the steering wheel. Then he’s grabbing at your hoodie, your back, your thighs – anything to urge you onto his lap. 

You’re lucky the windows are tinted. 

Once you’re settled, knees on either side of his thighs – which, honestly, aren’t leaving you very much room but why on earth would you fault him for that – he positions one hand gently on your cheek, stroking it absentmindedly with his thumb. 

“I like you too, by the way,” he says, a goofy smile on his face. You raise your eyebrows in a silent question and he nods, closing his eyes in content as you weave your hands back into his hair. “All this time.”

Finally, he pulls your face back down to his, pressing his lips to yours so much more softly and awkwardly than a minute ago. You feel like a teenager having their first kiss again, but this time you know it’s perfect. This one feels like an exhale after years of holding your breath. 

Matt pulls back and you pout, which makes him laugh and wrap his arms around your waist in a hug. Then he leans back in the seat again, big hands resting comfortably on your hips. 

“What are you doing, you weirdo?” you ask, but you kind of mean why aren’t you kissing me anymore. 

“Just admiring,” he replies, making you groan. 

Since you so clearly need to take the initiative here, you lean forward and steal his lips in a kiss again. His breath catches when you nip him, this time, and you wonder why you didn’t just do this sooner. It’s so much better than the whole push-and-pull thing you’ve had going for the past couple of summers. 

He presses you closer to him with one hand, deepening the kiss and using the other hand to pull down your hood and release your hair from its claw clip. In response, you pull on his again and he lets out this breathless little sound that you wanna hear at least five more times before he goes back home for summer training. 

The two of you are interrupted by an obnoxious buzzing from the cupholder. Matt reaches over and grabs his phone without even moving you off of his lap. 

You think you hear Jack’s voice on the other side, asking a series of questions that Matt barely has the time to answer before another three come out of your cousin’s big mouth. 

“Yeah, she’s fine. Took her bike. We’re on the way home now. Do you guys need us to stop for anything?” Jack says something else, and a smile dances on Matt’s lips. “No, we’re all good now. I think the two of us will be more tolerable together from now on. We talked it out.” 

Absentmindedly, you wipe a smudge of your tinted chapstick off the corner of his lips. He looks up at you for a second, winks, and runs his hand through his hair as he looks back toward the passenger side mirror. 

“I promise, it’s chill,” he tells your cousin. “And she says she’s sorry for scaring you. Her phone just died when she was out.” It’s not a lie, you’re just surprised he realized. But maybe you shouldn’t be – the two of you have paid unnecessarily close attention to each other for a long time. Whether you realized it or not, you did get to know each other under the pretense of hatred. “Yeah, we’ll be back in time for dinner. Like I said, heading back soon. Uh-huh. See ya.”

Matt punctuates the end of the call by kissing you again, then pushes you back over the center console to your own seat while he readjusts. 

“So…,” you trail off, back to playing with your sleeves. Matt looks at you, a smile already half-formed on his face. “What now?”

“We’ve got time to talk it out, right? Let’s just get back to the house first.” He reaches over, squeezing your leg. And he leaves his hand there as he pulls out of the gas station, for the rest of the drive, only letting go when the house is in sight. 

He looks over at you again with a knowing smirk once he parks the car in the driveway. 

“So. You still gonna pretend you hate me in there?”

You shrug, smiling, and jump out of the car. The door is mostly closed, but you hear him shout “hey!” after you as you dart off into the rain. 

All eyes are on you once you open the front door. 

And all it takes is one glance from you for Trevor to pump his fist and shout, “Yessss!” dragging it out victoriously. The rest of the boys catch on almost one-by-one. You can see the realization spread from Trevor and Luke to Quinn and Jack, then Alex and Cole as you feel Matt appear behind you in the entryway. 

“Finally!” Trevor continues, throwing his hands up in the air. “It only took you idiots like three years!”

“Trevor, what-” Matt starts, moving out from behind you so he can take off his wet hoodie and toss it down the basement stairs toward the laundry. 

While your not-so-much-anymore enemy gets an explanation for Trevor’s behavior, your cousins approach you and quietly usher you into the office. Jack shuts the door behind the four of you. This feels like a confrontation. 

“You scared us pretty bad there, Sunshine,” Luke starts, crossing his arms and leaning back against Quinn’s desk. 

“I am so sorry, you guys, it was a complete accident. I took a bike ride for ice cream, then my phone died. I was literally on my way back when Matt caught me,” you explain. 

A random cheer sounds from the other room. It distracts Jack, who looked like he was about to start shooting off another round of questions. You silently thank Trevor. 

“We’re just glad you’re okay, Sunshine, we promise.” Quinn’s first sentence is reassuring. Then he asks a not-really question that might be worse than whatever Jack had in mind. “What we’re wondering now is what’s going on with you and Matt. If you’ve made up and all.”

There hasn’t been enough time to define anything. You guys aren’t planning on fighting anymore, you don’t think. Still, what are you allowed to tell your cousins? The anxiety rising in your throat makes you cough. Jack’s eyes widen. 

“You’re not getting sick, are you?” he questions, worrying aloud. “We should’ve let you change into dry clothes before we dragged you in here, our bad-”

“That would be great, thanks,” you reply decisively. “But we’re not going to ruin everybody else’s vacations anymore, if that’s what your concern is. Now-” you make eye contact with all three brothers before you finish. “-if anyone has any problem with me going to get warm, dry, and comfortable, please voice that now.”

“One last thing,” Jack says, nodding for the other two to go. 

The two of you wait, facing each other, until the door closes behind Quinn. You sit down in one of the office chairs and cross your legs, waiting for Jack to speak. He sighs, tucking his hands under his armpits before looking up at you from beneath his backwards hat. 

“Sunshine, I made a big mistake years ago. I was trying to look out for you when I asked you not to date my friends, because I thought they’d all be like Trevor… and me,” he admits. 

You lean forward, definitely wanting to hear what he says next. 

“I was wrong about Matt. He’s not a player, not like the rest of us. We’ve all been watching you two bicker and pine over each other for years now, and I know both of you like each other even if you won’t say it in those words. Not to me, at least.”

He takes a deep breath, making sure to really meet your eyes before his big finish. 

“Please date Matt.”

“What?” you ask, trying not to laugh. “Are you like, asking me out in his place?”

It only takes you looking back at him for Jack to crack and start laughing. It was a weird phrasing. He knows that. 

“I swear we’ve been driving him crazy, making him jealous ‘n’ trying to get him to confess but he wasn’t gonna say anything until you had gotten over whatever he’d done to you originally.”

“What he’d done? Oh no buddy, that was all you,” you tell Jack, and when he just makes a confused face you explain further. “Y’all were completely right when you said I’d like him and I did, but I also remembered that I wasn’t supposed to date your friends. Just wanted to be a good cousin, y’know?”

“I’m so sorry,” Jack says, covering the top half of his face with his facepalm. “I should’ve grown up about that ages ago.”

You agree. “You should’ve, but who knows how it would have gone back then. And we’re here now, right?”

Your (slightly idiotic but lovable) cousin nods along with wide eyes, probably hoping this will absolve him of guilt. “Seriously, though. I am sorry. And also please stop flirting with Trevor – you’re killing poor Bolds, over there.” 

Finally, you laugh, getting up and throwing your arms around him. He holds you tight, just like the two of you used to hug when you were little. You used to say that if you never let go of each other, then your families would never be without each other again. It was cute then, but being mature now and knowing that you’ll have a strong bond whether you’re in the same state or you’re dating each other’s friends is much better, you think. 

“Can we just make a pact that you guys – and I mean all of you – will hold off on meddling from now on? Please?” 

“Will do,” Jack says quietly before releasing you. His eyes get a little twinkle in them when he inclines his head toward the door and says, “Now go get your man.”

“I think I’m gonna change first.”

“Right. That sounds… yeah. Go do that.”

Once you’re in dry clothes, you find Matt in his room, in the process of changing shirts even though his was barely touched by the rain. 

“Hey,” you say, rapping your knuckles gently against his door. “We still need to talk, right?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, patting the bed next to him. “Close the door, if you’re allowed?”

You nod, heading over to where he directs you without a word. The two of you spend at least a minute shifting in various ways, trying to make this comfortable. Because somehow it worked so much better when you were making out in a car. 

“So. There’s a lot to talk about.” 

He nods enthusiastically, running a hand through still-damp hair. But he doesn’t actually speak. He waits for you to continue, to decide what you want to bring up. 

“I guess… to start, Jack kind of finally gave us his blessing, but there’s a lot more I want to discuss with you before we act on anything like that. Like all the ways you were complaining to Trevor about me a couple nights ago. That stuff… it didn’t sound like a guy with a crush,” you admit, avoiding his widening eyes by fiddling with the hem of your shirt. 

“What all did you hear?” he questions, voice low. 

“That you couldn’t stand me,” your throat tightens, but you force the words out. “How we could never be nice to each other, not in a million years, so you were going to start actively hating me. The way that I just drive you crazy, apparently.”

His hands enter your line of vision. One cups your cheek. The other gently tugs at your own hand until you let him envelop it in his. The hand partly cupping your chin is equally gentle, tilting your head up so you look at him. His eyes are almost glassy. 

“Sunshine, you have to listen to me when I say that I was going crazy that night. I thought I’d fooled myself into thinking that you actually liked me the night before, and I hated myself for it more than anything. But you weren’t around, and you were an easy excuse, so I took it out on you there. I can’t forgive myself for it, so I’m not going to ask you to do it either. But you are missing a little bit of context.”

Matt closes his eyes briefly to take a quick breath. “I couldn’t be around you without trying to find some sign that could give me hope that we’d get over our rivalry, or whatever it was. I said you’re too out of reach, that you would never like me at all, let alone like that.” 

“I pretended Trevor was being the really crazy one, but it was all me. But I still shouldn’t have said any of that, and I’m so sorry. Especially that you had to hear it,” he finishes. 

“Thank you,” you tell him softly. “I really appreciate you admitting that.” Then you continue. “I have to apologize too. For all these years of teasing and taunting you, for trying to let you know that I heard you… literally in front of everyone else during Scum, where we couldn’t actually talk about it. That was uncool of me. I could’ve handled everything a lot better since we met. I should have. You…” You trail off once before you finally manage to get the words out. “Maybe you deserve someone who can handle all of their feelings like, I dunno, a grown-up.”

And this time, when you look up, you see that he really is tearing up a little bit. But he’s smiling. And he’s shaking his head. “I don’t want a grown-up, Sunshine. I want you. Have since we met.”

You giggle. It’s a little choked out, a little wet from making it around the lump that formed in your throat, but you get it out. 

“Don’t tell Jack that,” you tell him. “He’ll be insufferable about being right.”

“God, I know,” Matt groans, falling back onto the bed and almost pulling you with him. “He’s just the worst about that, isn’t he?”

“We can’t forget Trevor,” you say. “He’s gonna be so bad too.”

He groans again, more muffled as he drags a hand down his face. “I’d say we shouldn’t date or change how we act just to fuck with ‘em, but it’s too late for that, isn’t it?”

You’ve swallowed whatever was building in your throat and started to dry your face before you reply, “Jack already asked me out on your behalf, actually, so no, I don’t think that’d work at all. Nice thought, though.” 

“That’s kind of humiliating,” he points out. “Your cousin and my friend who told you to stay away from me got so sick of us acting like little kids around each other that he just – what, said ‘please date Matt’?”

“Bingo.”

This elicits a third groan from him, and he rolls over a little bit to sit back up. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead. Cross my heart. Swear it, all that stuff.”

When he falls back onto the bed like the drama queen you’ve always known he is, you follow. Matt re-opens his eyes to find you leaning over him. So he wraps his arms around you and pulls you down to lay on top of him, your faces just inches apart. 

“Worry about it later?” he asks, distracted by your sudden proximity (as if it isn’t his doing). 

A second passes, but you nod and lower your face to press your lips to his. Just like last time, it feels like breathing fresh air. It feels right. 

Maybe it would escalate. Maybe you and Matt would realize that you’re not in a car and you have some space to move around a little, but your lovely baby cousin knocks something against the wall in his room next door and ruins the moment. When you separate, though, Matt stills holds you close, his forehead meeting yours as you both catch your breath. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” he mutters, making you open your eyes. When he continues his voice is breathy. “...but, wow.” 

You feel a smirk spreading across your face before you can stop it. 

“Hey, I said don’t make fun of me!”

Time passes without you getting into an argument with Matt. Not in front of the boys, not at all. But neither of you clarify what’s changed between the two of you either. So by day three of peace and quiet, some of them are understandably tense. 

You and Matt are sitting out on the deck together during nap time when you hear the blinds hitting the other side of the door. The sound puts both of you on alert – making you look up from your book, Matt open his eyes from his half-nap. 

“‘d you think it’s the guys?” he asks quietly, glancing back toward the house. 

“Probably,” you shrug. “Made Jack promise not to meddle, but I doubt they can go this long without being nosy.” You look up at him over your book. “Not like there’s anything to tell, right? We’re kind of just… kissing. On occasion.”

He blinks slowly. “Yeah. I guess so.” Despite the agreement, his brows furrow. “And… you’re cool with just doing that?”

“If you are,” you respond. The air is growing heavy with the sudden awkwardness of trying to address whatever’s going on between you two now. Clearly, neither of you are the best at actually talking about your emotions, and that doesn’t seem like it’s going to change just because the feelings did. 

Matt sits up, slow and lazy, reaching over to force you to lower your book. 

“I don’t think I’m cool with that,” he says, voice quiet. “Sunshine, I’d like to actually date you. Take you out for dinner or something, make it kinda special and all that.” 

“Make it special, huh?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. 

His face reddens, but he nods. “Jack did ask you to date me, right? Not just ‘kiss me on occasion’?” He makes finger quotes as he reuses your words, then waits for your head to bob once in affirmation before standing. “Okay. Be ready at seven.” 

And with that, he’s heading back inside. The situation reminds you a little bit of that night at the party. But better. This time, the fireworks in your stomach are mixed with butterflies instead of nausea. This time things are working out, you think. 

Voices float out from the door when he opens it. Trevor, you recognize, and Luke. At least the two of them are converging on Matt inside, asking for clarification on why there’s no more fighting if you two aren’t officially a thing yet. Maybe Jack is there too. He’d probably be more defensive of you than your younger cousin, the ‘must defend her honor’ type. You hope for Matt’s sake that he’s still asleep or eating or doing literally anything else. 

Trevor must somehow have a sixth sense for when things are happening between you and his old friend. Because as soon as you head up to your room to get ready for whatever’s being planned, he follows. 

“So,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you as you start ruffling through your closet. “Matt asked me for restaurant recommendations tonight.”

“Okay?”

“C’mon, just admit that he’s finally really going after you. We all know how long he’s wanted to, and I’m pretty sure the last few days have put him as on edge as your cousins.”

His words make you frown. “Why are they worried? It has nothing to do with them.”

Trevor tsks, shaking his head dramatically. His hair falls into his face, so he has to brush it away. “Sunshine, Sunshine, Sunshine. Do you know what happened the last time you two were this quiet around each other, civil or otherwise?” 

Even though you start to answer with a sigh, he cuts you off. “You went missing in the middle of a storm. Freaked out all of us pretty bad, especially your cousins and Matt.”

“He was freaked out?”

“Oh yeah. Went so quiet, just threw on a hoodie and headed out to find you without, like, a word to the rest of us. Almost like he knew where you were or something.” The way your friend answers makes it seem as if he doesn’t think too much of it, just knows that it indicates that Matt has feelings for you. 

You, on the other hand, are struck by that last little admission. He did know where you were. Even that day in the rain, you’d had a feeling that he’d have found you even if you had stayed at the ice cream shop, but now you know. 

And the warm fuzzy feeling grows in your chest until it’s spreading through the rest of your body, forcing you to hide your smile from Trevor behind the closet door. 

“Did he tell you what we’re doing?” you question. 

He nods. 

“Can I know?”

He shakes his head. Heaving another deep sigh, you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Trevor, I at least need to know what to dress for. Can I have that much?”

“You’ll be moving around a little bit, but I’m pretty sure you can wear a skirt without worrying about it. Like, no jumping or anything crazy.” 

“This- you make it sound so weird,” you comment, and Trevor just shrugs. 

Still, you follow his advice even after you shoo him out of the room once more to really put something on. It keeps feeling strange – you’ve never dressed to get Matt’s attention before. You have no idea what he likes besides being pretty sure he likes you. But that’s not helpful. 

There’s a knock on your door as soon as you’ve found your outfit, and you make the person wait until it’s on to enter. It turns out to be Jack. 

“Hey, Sunshine,” he says casually, trying to hide the way his eyes widen when he sees your change of clothes. “Whatcha up to?”

“Going out tonight,” you say simply, because if Matt didn’t tell your cousins and friends then there must be a reason. “Why?”

“Just…be safe,” he replies. “Might be another storm coming in tonight. We really can’t have you getting sick. Mom would never forgive us.” You’re pretty sure he’s figured out that something is going on, but he’s just being sweet now. 

You smile at him. “I will,” you promise him softly. “No more getting lost in bad weather, I understand.”

He looks like he might want to say something, but instead he just pulls you into a hug with a short nod. There he is, you think to yourself. This is the cousin that would insist upon walking your seven-year-old self down the aisle whenever you roped the boys into playing wedding with you. The one who promised to look after you forever because even if you would always be older, he’d get bigger and stronger. 

So you squeeze him just that little bit tighter before you let go.

Matt isn’t in his room when you look, and he’s not in any of the common spaces. Eventually a confused Alex takes pity on you and directs you out to the driveway. You don’t see him by any of the cars, so you call his name. 

“Hey!” he responds, popping up from the other side of his car. “You’re- um, you-” Tripping over his words, he has to take a moment to collect his thoughts before he can talk. “You look great, Sunshine.” 

“Not so bad yourself,” you respond with an exaggerated wink. “What are you up to out here?”

Still seeming a little nervous, he gestures at his car. “Just… cleaning it up before you get back in. You know, since we’re going on an actual date and all.” The admission makes you smile. He keeps talking. “And, if you’re ready to go, we can head out. Starting to look like we might be on a bit of a time crunch with the weather and all.” 

Matt gestures to the sky, rounding the car to open the passenger side door for you. He holds it open until you get there. At which point he promptly leaves you alone in the car to toss the garbage bag he’d been throwing his car trash in. 

The ride to… wherever you’re going is awkward. Conversations are short, fading out quickly. Even though the two of you have managed to coexist peacefully for a little bit now, you still don’t really know how to interact with each other. Just be. 

“So what are you gonna do now that you’ve graduated?” Matt asks at one point after being seated at the hole-in-the-wall, local secret pizzeria that he chose for dinner. 

You shrug. “Look for jobs at home, I guess. Maybe around here, but that’d probably mean staying with Auntie Ellen for a bit and I’m not sure that would work.” 

He nods in understanding. The conversation dies. 

Later, you try starting something. “How do you think your team’s gonna be this season?”

“Well,” he says, brows furrowing in thought, “You always want to be better than you were, right? But with so many guys coming and going between seasons, it’s hard to know what kinda chemistry the lines will have on-ice.” 

This time, you’re the one nodding like you get it. And you kinda do. But since you’re not a hockey player yourself, you don’t quite understand it at the same level as, say, anyone else at the lake house would. 

Overall, dinner is pretty smooth, but the conversation doesn’t come easy. And the sky has definitely darkened prematurely since you went inside the place. Matt opens your door again, then the two of you are back in the car with only a Spotify playlist filling the air between you. The distinct awkwardness of the situation almost makes you giggle. 

“We already know kind of a lot about each other, huh?” you think aloud, looking over to see his face bathed in the red of the brake lights in front of you. He smiles at you, hand reaching for yours over the console. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I guess we do.” 

There was more on your mind, but you cut yourself off with a little gasp as Matt pulls into a parking lot. The parking lot of a mini golf course, to be exact. His smile turns fond when you grab his arm excitedly with your free hand. 

“Mini golf?” you half-ask, half-exclaim. “Matt!”

He shrugs bashfully. “I know you used to love it, and you probably haven’t gotten to do it much recently.”

“No,” you say happily, in agreement. Then your face turns to a pout. “All of y’all got too caught up in boring full-sized golf.” If it were even possible, you’d say that his smile only grows at your words. From pride, maybe, or endearment. “This is the best surprise date ever!” you continue, shaking his arm. 

“I’m glad,” he chuckles, leaning over to gently touch his forehead to yours before leaving to help you out of the car. 

The contrast between pizzeria and mini golf is stark. Playing a game brings out a competitive side in both of you, maybe the side that helped you form your strange bond in the first place. And each of you are fully convinced that you will come out victorious. 

“Watch this!” you call to Matt before sending your brightly-colored ball into a tunnel that should shoot it out as a hole in one. He watches closely, and is very obviously trying not to laugh when it gets stuck in said tunnel and you have to ask if he’ll use his turn to help you out. 

“Maybe next time, Sunshine,” he teases after the two of you free your ball, patting you on the back. 

Though you try to glower at him, the expression doesn’t hold. It quickly dissolves into a grin and a giggle. 

Surrounded by laughter and fake palm trees, the two of you manage to tie up the score by the sixteenth hole. Then something flashes in the distance. A low rumble follows, making some of the parents start herding their families to the exits immediately. 

You exchange a look with Matt. “Keep going until they tell us to stop?” you ask, holding up a fist. 

“Abso-freaking-lutely,” he answers, bumping his fist into yours. 

Of course, the intercom chooses this exact moment to crackle to life and project a wobbly teenage voice commanding all guests to exit the course, but pick up a coupon for another free game on the way out due to the unfortunate weather-related circumstances. 

Both you and Matt sigh, but have little choice other than to follow the instructions given. 

“This sucks,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets along with the free game coupon. “We might not even get time to use this thing before it expires.” 

“Hey,” you say, reaching to tug one of his hands into your own. “I still had fun tonight. Thank you.” He starts smiling at you just as the sky opens and the first raindrops start hitting your head and shoulders. An idea hits you. You let go of his hand, ignoring the offended look he shoots you. “Race you to the car!” 

And he may have longer legs, but you have a headstart. 

The clouds aren’t the only reason why the sky is dark when Matt pulls back into the driveway. There may have been another impromptu gas station stop, but you’d never admit to it. Glancing outside, you hesitate to get out of the car. 

“C’mon, Sunshine, you’re already soaked,” Matt tries to urge you. “Let’s just get in there.” Your gaze redirects to him, a smirk spreading across your face, and he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Silently, you start getting comfortable: unbuckling your seatbelt, leaning back in your seat, pulling out your phone. Your clothes just started feeling kind of dry again – why should you ruin it? It barely fazes you when the driver’s side door opens and closes. Then your door opens, and you jump a little.

Matt holds out a hand. “Are you coming inside with me or what?”

Sure, it’s no Prince Charming moment. But it’s your Matt. Only a second or so passes before you slip your phone into a pocket and slide off the seat until your feet hit the ground. 

It’s still pouring out. There’s no way around that. 

But the streetlights and the lanterns next to the front door are casting warm light over the pavement through the apparent wall of rain. Suddenly, you stop caring about the possibility of getting wet entirely. 

Matt doesn’t flinch when you surge up to kiss him. He smiles into it, closing your car door for you and leaning down so you can wrap your arms around his neck. One of his hands finds your face in the semi-dark, his thumb moving back and forth, accidentally rubbing in the cold raindrops that fell there. 

It doesn’t matter that you’re cold. It doesn’t matter that it’s after dark on a summer night. It doesn’t matter that your cousins and all of Matt’s friends are still awake, just inside. 

All that matters is you and Matt, holding each other close in the face of everything else going on right now. 

“Does this mean I win?” you ask cheekily when the two of you part. 

The space between Matt’s brows crinkles for just a second before realization flashes across his face and he’s shaking his head. “Naw, Sunshine. If I’m here kissing you right now, I think it means I won.” 

“Okay,” you murmur, stepping in closer to him so you’re almost completely in his space, “What’s your prize of choice then?”

“I have you, don’t I?”

You look up at him, eyes shining in the light like the puddles forming in the yard. “You mean that?”

Matt’s arms come down to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you even more into his chest and tucking your head under his chin. He’s about to say something else when a door opens and a voice calls into the night. 

“Get in here, idiots! You’re gonna get hypothermia or whatever!”

Jack’s voice joins Cole’s. “You’re so gross! This is worse than when you were fighting!” 

You and Matt exchange a look then burst out laughing. But you head into the house nonetheless, hand-in-hand, prepared to defend each other against the ruthless barrage of teasing all of your friends have prepared. 

After all, only the two of you are allowed to antagonize each other.

gasped out loud when i saw this posted

perv | pt. 2 | s. crosby

after being called out for his perverted actions, he gets a taste of his own medicine.

warnings: smut (18+ ONLY MDNI, piv, oral, for visual purposes only), sidney being a perv,

retired!sidney crosby x younger!fem reader

read pt. 1 here

"i was wondering, if you'd wanna see the real thing?"

sidney was sure he was in a dream. how did he end up here? how did he get himself in this promiscuous situation? oh, right. he was being a perv, that's how.

he was frozen in time. his mouth slightly agape as he was stuck, watching her- the stunning young woman in front of him take her bikini top off. the top strings come undone, gravity making them fall and unfold on top of her stomach. god, he feels like a teenager again, remembering what it felt like looking at a playboy magazine for the very first time. hard. painfully hard.

then she reaches around her back, pulling at the delicate bow that sidney had politely tied for her. then, it falls.

she steps closer to him, reaching for his hand. inside she's freaking out a little bit- why hasn't he said anything? but she pushes the thoughts aside and takes his hand, forcing him to palm her breast. he breathes in sharply, biting his lip.

"y'know sidney, i've heard rumors about hockey players," she whispers, leaning into his touch as his hand plays with her breast.

"probably all bad," he chokes out. he takes his other hand and rests it on her back, pulling her closer to him while he squeezes lightly on her round flesh.

"just mostly, that hockey players only care about themselves in bed," he hums, "they only have one setting when they're fucking women," he raises his eyebrow.

"and what might that be?" he teases, the tip of his nose just centimeters away from hers.

"rough. hard, fast," she runs her hands up his chest, she can feel the toned but soft muscles that are underneath his soft t shirt. she feels his breath pattern change, his eyes have grown a little bit darker by now. "i've even heard that they can't even make a woman cum." he grins, "is that true, sidney?"

by now, his hands have started to play with the strings on the bottom pice of her bikini. he's lightly playing with the bows that are holding it together, teasing to pull them apart.

"partially," he grips her hips, pulling her close to him as he starts to walk backwards into a hallway. "what part is not true?" she responds.

he opens the door to his bedroom. he backs her up to the bed, the back of her knees hitting the mattress and forcing her to sit on the bed. he stands in front of her, taking off his shirt to reveal his broad, tan chest. she takes in a deep breath.

"not true? that i can't make women cum," he takes her legs in his hands, spreading them as wide as she would let them go for him. she bites her lip while feeling his rough hands smooth over her soft thighs. she lays back on her elbows as he sinks to his knees, putting her legs over his shoulders.

he stares at the bright red, thin material that's been keeping him from getting the good stuff this whole time- it's been taunting him. he presses his nose up against her clothed cunt, taking in a deep inhale of her scent. she doesn't know whether to be turned on or turned off, but the feeling of his nose pressed up against her clit is heavenly. he mouths at her pussy a couple times, his teeth grazing against her clit draws a moan from her. he chuckles.

"you sure you wanna keep going?" he asks.

"now you're asking for consent? after taking pictures of me, groping my breasts, and putting your nose in my pussy?" she laughs, untying her bottom piece and shimmying to get it off, tossing it onto the floor. "get to work sidney, show me you're not lying about that rough and fast part."

he takes a rough grip on her thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs there's going to be bruises in the morning. he doesn't care, she asked for it to be rough. he spits on her pussy, taking his tongue and pressing it flat against her clit, shaking his head side to side.

out of pure physical response she spreads her legs wider, arching her back off the mattress. she moans, feeling the hot, wet friction against her clit. sidney pulls back to get a breath, kissing the inside of her thigh just briefly before sucking at her folds. inserting his tongue into her hole, then licking up a stripe along her wet cunt.

she's giggling out of pleasure, gripping the sheets and moaning into the air. she takes a hand and stuffs it into his salt and pepper hair, gripping tightly, as if she is holding him in place. "don' stop," she breathed out, grinding her cunt up against his mouth. she feels him smile against her, what a dirty dog.

he starts to lap up her juices, licking fat stripes up and down her cunt. she's giving him the loudest moans he's ever gotten, letting out a string of curses with his name mixed in with it.

"please," she inhales sharply when he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks harshly, "ohmygod- fuck i'm cumming sidney!" she shrieks, gripping onto his hair he thinks she might pull some of it out.

with just a few short hard sucks, she cums on his tongue just like he wanted her to. squeezing her thighs around his head, his ears ring just a little bit before he spreads them with his hands. one more lick to her cunt, getting every last drop on his tongue, he swallows everything she just gave him. dirty.

she sits up, brushing her hair back with her fingers and reaching for the waist band of his shorts. she pulls his hard cock out, grinning at how big he is. that gets his ego going.

she licks her hand, jacking him while looking deep in his eyes. this girl is going to kill him- and they only met twenty minutes ago.

"goddamn- lay back again. all the way on the bed," sidney climbs on the bed with her, keeping her legs spread as he stood on his knees in between them. he picked her up by the back of her thighs, pulling her against him to line his dick up with her aching hole.

he took his thumb, pressing it against her clit as he drug his tip through her folds. he got a kick out of watching her facial expressions, her eyes screwing shut as he teased her pussy. "ohmy- please put it in sidney-"

she let out a sharp gasp as he started to press inside of her, hearing him moan as he slipped inside her tight hole. "suckin me in baby," he pressed the palms of his hands on either side of her head, inching in all the way in her cunt until he couldn't go any further.

he saw tears brimming her eyes, for a second he felt bad but then he felt her thighs squeeze around him, pulling him forward as close as he could get. "it hurts so good," she breathed out, dragging her nails down his chest.

"yeah? you like your hole stuffed full of cock don't you?" she nodded her head while he started to thrust. starting off slowly, grinding into her in and out, in and out, in..and...out.

"keep going," she arched her back and moaned, locking her hands around his neck to try and bring him closer but he isn't budging. he wants to stay above her, to watch, to analyze. see how she's reacting to his big and bad attitude.

he hasn't picked up his pace, he's stayed slow and steady for at least a minute. it's driving her crazy, he can tell. and he loves it.

"c'monnnn sidney, is that all you got?" she whines, nails scraping down his shoulders, trying to get him to do something. "thought you were s'posed to be...fuckin' rough..or something," she whined in between thrusts from sidney.

"you want rough?" she nodded eagerly, "yeah baby?" he pulled out just halfway.

then suddenly he pushed back in, and started to push her halfway off the bed. the only part of her on the mattress were just her hips and nothing else. "fuckin' take it then," he said through gritted teeth.

holding onto her hips with an iron grip he fucked her hard, rough, and fast. just like she asked. the bed was creaking with every thrust he made and she was moaning and whining with every deep thrust she made, hitting her g spot every time.

he was deep inside of her, and she was so overwhelmed with pleasure. she shrieked again when she felt her orgasm coming along fast, her hands gripping onto the carpet underneath her while she felt him abuse her cunt with every snap of his hips.

"fuckin' cum baby, cum hard for me please-" that was all he had to say before she was screaming his name in pleasure, her orgasm coming like a tidal wave over her body. she felt her arms give, before she was going to fall completely sidney held onto her legs, using his strength to pull her up and face him again.

still inside of her, he kindly brushed hair out of her face and brushed his hands along her flushed cheeks.

"was that enough for you? or you want more?" he teased, both of his hands gripping her ass hard to keep her in place.

she's still catching her breath, but she lets out a light laugh, "give me all you got, captain."

feedback | masterlist

if i was president of the fia i would require teammates to do a good luck kiss with tongue before every race

aaand will power continues to show that australian men need therapy a lot more than they need motorsport careers.

not in that way (part one)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: steve rogers is your best friend, which means that inherently bucky should be yours too. somewhere along the way, it became more than that for you. for bucky, it's just tolerance. he likes you, but not like that. not in that way.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, protected sex (yeah wrap that up), rough, choking, fwb, mean bucky, mutual pining, not proofread

notes: thank you guys for the support on the snippet as well as for waiting for me as i got this done! i just finished finals so i plan on locking in on this one and circuit breaker bc i cannot stop thinking about them.

ps. i swear bucky and reader are friends, just had to hit the angst and give some background but there will be cute moments along with smut probably every chapter...I'm hoeing out.

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

“Steve?” You called out to him, steps pounding behind you as you hurriedly moved toward his pinged location. “Steve, oh my god.” Your voice trailed off, shock evident. 

People brushed by you and pushed toward Steve’s figure on the ground. You’d never seen him like this. Sure, Steve Rogers was a super soldier and the most physically strong man you knew—but this was different. Mentally, he seemed destroyed. 

He called your phone, short of breath and muttering for help. It immediately sent you into action. You were normal—the most civilian anyone could be. There was no other option but to call someone, plead with them to find and help your friend. He’d been washed up on the shore, lying in the dirt and clearly out of it. 

You watched him get worked on, staring into the distance. 

“What happened?” You kneeled next to him,  “Who did this?” 

Steve turned to you, eyes glossed over in disbelief. “Bucky.” He shook his head, “It was Bucky.” He kept repeating it to himself, attempting to convince his own mind that it was true. “It was him. It was Bucky. He was here.” 

“I don’t understand,” you grasped his shoulder. “I thought he was gone—you saw.” You gulped, searching his face for any hesitance. “You said he fell, that he-“

“It was him.” 

“Okay.” You nodded, “Okay, I believe you. He was here.” 

It was true. The man you’d heard so many stories about had returned. He wasn’t like the anecdotes Steve recalled; this Bucky was darker, more quiet, resigned. 

He was an observer. You often caught him staring at you, eyes lingering between your figure and Steve’s. Bucky would always stand, tucked into a corner. He didn’t feel deserving of the warmth Steve offered—the humanity that remained present in you. There were times, then, that you would offer a welcoming hand. A slight wave of motion offered him a seat, acknowledging that he did deserve to be there. He felt human with you. 

That’s what initially drew Bucky to you and inevitably why you became friends, too. There was a way that you loved everyone, insisted on not leaving them out and nourished their insides. 

The hurt came when he realized it would never be that way for him.

You could never love him, not a monster. Not when the shining emblem of a perfect man sat beside you every day. Steve had so much time with you—he was your best friend. Bucky couldn’t replace him, not if he tried. So he always kept you at arms length, hoping to be more than friends but settling for something less. 

The first time it happened, when Bucky had been so lucky to have a moment with you—he swore that he was dreaming. He never gave you a reason to like him, in fact, it was the opposite. He’d gone out of his way every day to push you further from him, make it known that he’d never be as good as Steve. 

He could tell you saw something different; he hated it. 

The three of you had tried small talk often, Steve facilitating some sort of discussion to break the ice. It almost always ended with you and Bucky exactly where you started, friends who were forced to be so because of a mutual one.

“Well, I’m headed out—you two should talk.”

“Steve, no-“ 

“Buck, you two are my favorite people in the world. I would love it if you gave this a chance.” Steve patted his friend’s shoulder, “For me. Please.” 

Bucky turned to look at Steve, a solid expression on his face. He didn’t speak, just gave him a small nod and let Steve step around him and out of your place. 

It was common that Steve would find solace in your home. It was far from the city, neatly tucked away in a residential area. There was a sense of normalcy and he was proud to introduce that to Bucky—he needed that, deserved it after everything. 

The room was silent, violently so. You sat across from Bucky—him lingering in your peripheral and you nestled softly into your couch. He didn’t move, standing still near a wall which offered him the sight of every possible window and exit. 

“Do you wanna sit?” 

You watched his body for any reaction, dissatisfied when there was none. It was awkward, him avoiding eye contact and you not sure of what else to say. 

You sighed, “I’ll be back.” You announced your departure, not that it mattered to him. 

You beelined to the bathroom, desperately needing to escape him. He was always like this, closed off and so obviously annoyed by your presence. Splashing your face with water did little to temper you and your body seemed to overheat at the thought of having to see him again. 

You didn’t let yourself think—couldn’t. You stepped out and kept your head down before looking toward Bucky’s signature spot on the wall. He wasn’t there. 

You tilted your head down, seeing Bucky now sitting on the couch, two cushions away from where you’d been prior. He watched you smile softly, moving to sit in your spot.

Bucky made a habit of keeping his hands in his lap. He would sit stoically at all times. It was the same now. 

He avoided eye contact but muttered, “Hi.” 

Your breath hitched, surprised he’d started conversation. Keeping your tone even so as not to overwhelm him, you replied, “Hi, Bucky.” 

The both of you nodded, letting the weight of your forced proximity surround you. As much as he tried, he couldn’t ignore you. The faint smell of your hair products, the way you tapped your own leg rhythmically, how nervous you were—he noticed it all. 

“Do you, um,” you swallowed. “Do you want something to drink, maybe?” 

It’d been over a year since Bucky showed up. You, of course, shared small talk with him in that time. He’d grown to know the story of you and Steve—how you met. It would suffice to say that Bucky grew to be an acquaintance of yours—a long lost friend of a friend…one that would never truly like you. Accepting that was hard; you wanted Bucky to be comfortable at the very least. If not like you, he would at bare minimum be able to sit down for once. 

So today was a win. 

Bucky didn’t reply to your question but instead asked his own, “How was Steve? Without me, I mean?” 

His voice was gruff, and you hadn’t expected that question, let alone more than a single syllable from him. 

“Well,” you readjusted to face Bucky, “He’s always the most positive guy in the room—which I’m sure you know.”

Bucky let a smirk slip, recounting the optimism his friend had at all times. 

“He’s better than me that way, than a lot of us.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. He’s just Steve, you know that.” 

He didn’t know that. Bucky was living in his body but observing from outside his own mind. He was witnessing his friend after so much time had escaped him. Everything he thought was true wasn’t anymore. 

He wanted to get to know you, offer you the same grace that was given to him. But he couldn’t. Before it even begun Bucky was overwhelmed. He pushed himself to be kinder, to do this for Steve. It was simply futile. 

He stood suddenly and looked down at you, “I should go.” 

“Okay,” you stood, nodding. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.” 

He hummed, rolling his shoulders back and tightening his posture again. He didn’t respond. 

“I’ll tell Steve you tried today,” you whispered to him. “I know he’ll appreciate it. I do.” 

The tension was palpable. Your eyes stayed locked on each other until you heard a sound and looked down. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm was clear, only slightly suppressed by the gloves he always wore. He watched you noticing his hand twitch as if he wanted to move it. There was a restraint there, like he was pushing down something that was second nature. As if he meant to do something that he’d always done. 

You swallowed hard enough to hear it in your ears. Looking at Bucky, you arched your brow in a subtle defiance—daring him to do what he intended. You wanted to know him and his habits, to understand even a modicum of what was in his brain. 

Without thinking a second more, he let his left arm lift a bit. He reached toward your face but paused at you flinching, leaning away from him. 

Just barely audible, you spoke, “Sorry.” 

Bucky blinked and furrowed his brows, unable to stop himself. He let his fingers wrap around your face, a single hand pressing just under your chin and at the top of your throat. Slightly wide eyed, you watched him watching you. Most of his hand rested on your cheek, his thumb pressing into the other side of your face. 

Despite no longer being the Winter Soldier, his habits lingered. When in that state he remembered being like this so vividly—a hand around someone’s throat and crushing the life out of them. He hissed at the thought, not at all intending for that with you. He craned your head, though, observing the quizzical look on your face. 

It didn’t make sense to him, the need to maintain this routine. But he did. Beyond the haze of what was once his signature way of taking life—he saw a new one. Bucky could envision his future so clearly, yet he couldn’t let himself have it. 

He went to drop his hand but stopped at the feeling of yours on his wrist. It was inexplicable. Glove or not, you craved the contact from him. 

The room stayed silent except for the slight creak of the floorboards beneath you. While Bucky stayed steady, you teetered on the balls of your feet—this moment feeling fleeting. 

He inched forward, watching your eyes fall closed. 

Your lips were right there, the ones he’d openly been ogling at for months. It was torture, but all he knew. He couldn't allow himself the satisfaction of the feeling. He wasn’t deserving. 

Instead, he latched onto your neck. Bucky kissed and nibbled there with an urgency you hadn’t expected—hell, you didn’t even think today would’ve progressed to this at all. 

The feeling of him on you was intoxicating, and it was so minuscule. His hands were all over you, and yours on him. Your breath came out ragged, “We shouldn’t.” 

“You’re right.” He paused on your neck briefly, directly in your ear now. “We shouldn’t.” 

“We’re friends.” You nodded, letting your hands trail up his back and into his hair. 

“Are we?”

You weren’t sure. It was complicated. You couldn’t let yourself think about that now and neither could he. 

He pushed you down onto the couch and stood above you, allowing you to finally look him over. He was casually in jeans and a t-shirt, the rest of his body entirely covered. The only skin that showed besides his face was just below at his neck. Around it lied his dog tags that he was so adamant about wearing. The glint of them always caught your eye and alerted you of his presence. Even when he showed up silent, you’d see him and those damn tags. Just always out of your eyeline but in the room—that was who Bucky had always been. In his stoicism he was still consistently there.

Watching Bucky undo his pants already had you eager for him, too. There was always something there for you, an intrigue simply at the way he carried himself. You stayed seated, leaning back a bit in an attempt to slide down your sweatpants. Both of you watched the other discarding the bottom half of their clothes with little thought, tossing them aside. 

He leaned, then, ruffling into his dark jacket’s interior. 

“I got it,” he mumbled, ripping into the condom wrapper with his teeth. He slid the latex over himself just before pushing the jacket off his back. 

He kneeled into the couch, the angle awkward but enough that he was able to slide into you like he wanted. It was tight—rough. You expected the burn but still sucked in a breath at it, the lack of prep. Bucky didn’t mean to make it this way but just wanted it to be over—the insatiable need to pump in and out of you. Only you.

Slowly and deliberately he continued to kiss around your neck, collarbone, and ears. He snapped into you, purposely moving at a speed that allowed him to chase a high rather than savor the moment with you. He wanted to, truly…to acknowledge the way you looked up at him. It was his dream to let the sounds of you falling apart actually hit his ears and mean something—but he couldn’t. 

The couch creaked and rocked. You were now slightly bent into the back of the cushions, your chest moving up and down alongside Bucky’s. He pulled back, stabilizing himself behind you. The new angle allowed you to see his dog tags again, them hitting you with every movement into you. Without thinking you grabbed them, hooking them under one of your fingers. 

He finally allowed himself some relief, his voice dragging out the moans he’d himself been holding in. “Fuck...” 

You watched him intently, pulling him closer by the chain on his neck. He shifted his angle a bit at that and watched your jaw drop open. Your brows furrowed, whines choking out of you at the new sensation. It made you let go of his tags, grasping at the fabric of his shirt. This made him pound into you faster—realizing a tether of intimacy was gone. 

He was subconsciously glad for that, happy that he could pinpoint and force that sweet look in your eyes away. There was no longer an adoration in your gaze but simply one of pleasure. This was for the best. He could appreciate you from a distance despite the line of friendship being crossed so carelessly now. 

“Shit,” you groaned out suddenly. “Buck-“ 

He hushed you softly, quelling the harsh sound in your throat. It only spurred him on though, truly ruthless about this. He only slowed at the feeling of your fingers gliding over his face, pushing the stray piece of hair out of view. His pace stuttered, faltering as he really looked at you. 

A second later, he started in on you again. A clothed hand found its way into your shirt and pinched at your nipples. His grip was rough, kneading your chest. You were already so close; every additional sensation only pushing you further.

You met him suddenly, writhing into him and filling the living room with lewd slapping sounds. 

Bucky huffed breaths out at every push into you. You fought a squeak, pressing your own hand over your mouth. You gnawed at it as it allowed some relief from the burning inside of you. He was hitting that same spongey spot over and over. He was so good at picking up on the subtle changes in your face and body. 

Without warning he slipped out and nudged you, “Turn.” 

You did without questioning, a firm covered hand rubbing at the skin of your hips. Regardless of his gloves, you felt the difference in his hands—the slight shift of metal in one versus the pulse in the other. There was a contrast you enjoyed, a chill about his metal arm that grounded you. 

A knee pushed your legs open as he slid into you again, this time using you as leverage. Bucky pushed you down slowly, the side of your head finding the cushion. This angle was new, deeper. It wouldn’t be much longer at this point and he could tell. One hand slipped underneath you and up to your neck again, squeezing just enough for you to appreciate the loss of breath. In between gasps you nudged further into the couch, the sensation becoming too much for you. 

He couldn’t stop when you came, relishing the way your insides continued to pulse. It was as if he was meant to stay; his one true purpose was to be completely enveloped by you. When he finished a strained sound choked in his throat, one that you hadn’t expected. 

You were throbbing still, a cold feeling finally making you realize he pulled away. The feeling of him on you had gone away so quick. The sound of a different metal clanked—his belt buckle bouncing around as he slid his pants back on. 

“Should we…should I tell Steve about this?” 

Your question was sudden, but was filled with a weight that scared him. You didn’t want to be too forward—but it was only right. Steve was now caught in the middle of something complicated. Even if this was the first and only time…you weren’t sure you could keep this from him. 

Bucky thought differently. 

“Why would you wanna tell Steve?” 

“Because it’s-“ 

“Leave him out of this.”  

Bucky readjusted his clothes, smoothing them over as they’d been before. You watched him inch his way to the door—his back toward you. 

You ignored the pang in your chest, the confusion that now resonated in you. Pushing it away, you settled on changing the subject. “Steve wanted to do something tomorrow, you coming?” 

He didn’t turn as he grabbed the doorknob, merely craned his head to the side. You watched his profile for any sense of something but again he was so unreadable for you. 

“I’ll be there.” 

Then he left. 

part two

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Jonathan Joss comedian and actor has been murdered

You've probably already heard.

He's most known for his King of The Hill character John Redcorn. Sadly most comments I've heard from people were, "Now we have to recast Louanne and John"

Which is fucking disrespectful.

Texan news outlets report he was in a fight with a neighbor while visiting his property, which had burned down in a freak fire.

His husband has corrected these claims.

He and Jonathan had been threatened repeatedly while living together there. It was Jonathan's life long childhood home.

They neighbors threatened to burn the house down, before it had burned. And their two dogs burned inside. While getting mail yesterday and when they arrived they found their dogs skull and collar on display as a threat to them. They began crying and grieving. That's when a neighbor began cursing at them and calling them homophobic slurs, and they asked the man to leave them alone as they grieved, and the man without warning lifted a gun from his lap and began firing. Jonathan pushed his husband out of the way and was shot. He saved his husband's life.

His husband wants everyone to know it was NOT a fight and that he and Jonathan were minding their business when there was a deadly homophobic attack

the captain | s. crosby

warnings: sexual content, strong language, MDNI, 18+, NSFW, minors please do no interact, smut.

summary: Sid is given a hard time by his gf about his very stoic interactions with the media. he's not going to let you off so easy.

request: Younger reader and Sidney are already dating, but she can’t help but roll her eyes at his impeccable media training and family friendly personality in the media he does for the league, so she makes fun of him and takes a strong interest in pushing his limits 👀 (aka ends in smut)

word count: 6.3k

a/n: sorry for the extended hiatus guys! i should be back to regular uploads at this point in time and i am currently working through the request list! more to come to keep your eyes peeled guys! thank you for your patience with me! angelsuecult returns!! also to the original requester please don't hesitate to reach out if i completely missed the mark on this and you want me to retry! and requests are still open and update so dont forget to check that out!

--

You’re pretty sure Valentine’s Day games are a scam. Some cruel cosmic joke designed to make girlfriends sit through 60 minutes of freezing cold air and overpriced concessions just to watch their man play his heart out in a sport that could, at any moment, take all his teeth and potentially a limb.  

Not that you minded. Much.  

Sidney had played his ass off tonight—like he had something to prove. Not that he ever really didn’t, because the man didn’t know how to do anything half-assed. Especially not when it came to hockey. Or you, for that matter.  

But of course, it just had to be Valentine’s Day.

You stood now in the tunnel by the player’s exit, phone in hand, watching as Penguins fans in Crosby jerseys flooded toward the concourse, buzzing about the win. Your fingers flew over your screen.  

You: You know I was going to blow you when you got home, but I’m reconsidering because you just had to make it about you tonight.

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Then vanished. Then nothing.  

You rolled your eyes and snorted. “Coward.”  

The man had just been named first fucking star of the game. Of course he had. Two goals, one assist, and a faceoff win percentage so sexy it made you squirm a little. You knew his media obligations were kicking off soon—he was probably just peeling his sweaty gear off now, miserable about the idea of answering questions about “how it felt” and “what went right tonight.”  

Sid: Can’t believe you’re texting me shit like that while I have to sit half dressed with 5 cameras pointed at me.

You bit your lip and grinned.  

You: I can. 

You: You looked good tonight. Real good. Like I’d let you put it in my ass kind of good.  

You: Kidding. Kind of.  

Another pause. He was slow replying, which you’d expected, and it only made you smirk more knowing he was probably trying not to react in front of his teammates or, worse, the media guys. You could practically see his jaw tightening as he tried to suppress a smile, annoyed but secretly delighted.  

You could picture him already—still in his gear, slumped at his stall with his towel around his neck and that half-annoyed, half-resigned expression on his face. Someone probably tossed a mic in his face already. He was probably giving them that polite nod, the “Sure, go ahead” look, all while internally screaming. Sidney, Sidney, Sidney. Too private for his own good.

Sid: Go to my place. I’ll be done soon.

Sid: Stop texting me this shit.

You laughed out loud, drawing a glance from a nearby couple as you stepped out into the cold Pittsburgh night.

You: Oh baby, I haven’t even started.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in your bed.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in your shower.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in that stupid jersey you “don’t like me wearing because you take it seriously.”  

You could practically hear him groaning through the screen.

Sid: You’re an asshole.

Sid: Say the same shit every time anyway.

Sid: “Good team effort, got the bounces, lucky to come out on top.”

Sid: Happy now?

You: You forgot “credit to the guys” and “just trying to play the right way”

You: Gotta hit all the NHL buzzword bingo squares.

You: And don’t forget to smile like a humble Canadian virgin!

No reply. You let that one simmer. He was either suffering or plotting. Maybe both. Probably both.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, breath fogging in front of your face as you made your way to your car. The wind cut through your jeans, but your smile stayed in place. There was something so satisfying about teasing him after a big win—especially when he hated the attention but couldn’t stop being the best guy on the ice. You just couldn’t help yourself.

You got in the car and cranked the heat while pulling up the radio broadcast. They were still recapping the game, gushing over Sid like he wasn’t just a man who’d once tripped over his own shoe in the hallway.

“…and of course, Crosby with a textbook finish. You can see why he’s still one of the most consistent players in the league…”

You rolled your eyes, mimicking the voice in the car. “Oh yes, Sidney. So clean. So polished. Such a gentleman. Definitely didn’t say he was going to fuck me through the headboard if he scored tonight.”

Traffic cleared slowly as you went to his place, a familiar route etched into your brain. His street was quiet when you pulled in—classic Sid, all understated wealth and privacy. It took you forty five minutes to get from the arena to his house, another five to park and kick off your shoes inside the door.  It smelled like him—like clean laundry, cedarwood, and that subtle vanilla scent of his shampoo you’d teased him for using but secretly loved.

You wandered through his halls, turning on a few lights, getting cozy. It always felt familiar here, even though it was very clearly his space—clean, functional. Like a guy who didn’t like clutter but had more money than he knew what to do with.

You padded into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. Full of ingredients. Not a single thing you could just grab and go.

“Romantic,” you muttered under your breath, pulling out a container of strawberries instead and wandering toward the couch.

The rest of the house was dark except for the hallway light, left on for you, and your socked feet were silent on the hardwood as you climbed the stairs to his bedroom. The hallway was chilly as you padded toward the bedroom in your socks, carrying the half-eaten strawberries and your phone tucked beneath your arm. Sid’s place had that always-too-clean look to it. Like he tried to live in it, but barely spent enough time home for it to actually look lived in. You made a note to mess it up later. Nothing too dramatic—just a sweatshirt on the floor, maybe a bra hanging off the couch cushion, leave a cup on the counter. Domestic terrorism.

You tossed your phone on the nightstand and peeled off your jacket, fingers brushing over the remote on the dresser.  

TV on.  

Pants off.  

You were in his bed now, wearing his shirt—an old Penguins one that smelled like his laundry detergent and game day nerves—and absolutely nothing underneath.  

Just as God intended.  

The analysts were falling over themselves about his performance.

“…you know what you’re getting with Sid. Every single night. Discipline. Poise. He’s just got it.” You snorted.

“Yeah, discipline until he’s got me pinned under him telling me I’m not going anywhere until I apologize for teasing him about his ‘media voice.’”

Another buzz from your phone.  

Sid: About to start media. They’re dragging it out tonight.  

Sid: You’re lucky I like you.  

Sid: And that I want to fuck you stupid.  

You choked on your laugh, clutching your phone tighter as you wiped strawberry juice from your fingers onto his shirt. You stretched dramatically across the bed and typed.  

You: Wow. Romantic.  

You: Just like I dreamed when I was 10.  

You: “One day I’ll date a hockey player who talks to me like a caveman on Valentine’s Day.”

Sid: Don’t act like you don’t like it. You’re already naked, aren’t you?

You: You’re not even here yet and you already think you know everything.  

Sid: I do know everything. And I know you’re wearing my shirt. And that’s it.  

Sid: Because you’re predictable. And a little slutty.

You covered your face with one hand and laughed out loud into the empty room. Your heart fluttered like a fucking schoolgirl even as you cursed him out in your mind.  

There was something wildly unfair about the duality of Sidney Crosby. The version the world knew—stoic, polite, humble to the point of parody. And then the real version. The one who texted you filthy things from the dressing room and called you a brat with that low rasp in his voice that promised you wouldn’t be walking straight the next day.

He was such a damn con artist.

You: You’re the one who’s gonna cry when I leave you with blue balls tonight.  

You: “Sorry Sid, I got tired waiting for you.”  

You: “Sorry Sid, I used all my energy climbing your stairs.”  

You: “Sorry Sid, I found your toothbrush and that did it for me.”

Sid: You’re such an asshole.

Sid: You’re lucky I’ve been horny for you since warmups. 

Sid: You knew what you were doing, sitting that close.

You had known.  

You always knew.  

And he always played better when he knew you were there watching.  

You yawned, stretched your legs beneath his sheets, and flopped dramatically on the bed, taking up all the space just to be a brat. You could already hear it: his sigh of fake annoyance when he got home, the shake of his head, the way he’d peel your shirt up with one hand and drag your body down with the other.  

You rolled to your stomach, phone buzzing again beside you.  

Sid: I’ll be home soon. You better be exactly where I think you are.

Sid: And if you’re not, you’re done. Actually done. I’ll find a Valentine who respects me.

You: You?  

You: Wanting respect?  

You: I’m sorry. I thought this was Sidney “I’ll fuck you on the bench if no one’s around” Crosby.

No reply. Which told you all you needed to know.  

He was already doing media.  

Probably giving his same bland ass answers.  

Probably planning what he was going to do the second he walked through that door.  

You looked around, debated getting up to light a candle or make the bed look a little less like a war zone. Then shrugged.  

Let him deal with the chaos he caused.  

You flipped onto your back and sighed happily, smirking at the ceiling.  

The remote was still in your hand when the screen switched from the postgame panel to the locker room feed. You didn’t even bother turning up the volume—didn’t need to. You could already hear it in your head.  

Sidney Crosby, media-trained robot, coming to life in hi-def.

You sighed and settled deeper into his bed, still cocooned in his shirt, bare legs tangled in his sheets. The duvet smelled like him. So did the pillow you were shamelessly half-lying on, half-straddling. Your phone sat close, a loaded weapon in the war of flirtation, but for now, you watched.  

There he was, perched in his stall, sweat-slick hair hidden under a black team hat, compression long sleeve clinging to his chest and arms like it was painted on. No jersey. No pads. Just muscle, all angles and sharp focus, like the game hadn’t even left his bloodstream yet. Cue Captain Canada.

The reporter asked about the team’s energy tonight, and you muttered out loud to no one, “We played a full sixty, stuck to our game, did the little things right—blah, blah, blah.”  

And then, right on cue:  

“Yeah, I thought we played a full sixty tonight… stuck to our game, did the little things right…”  

You cackled.

“Fucking called it.”  

He looked half dead behind the eyes, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, nodding as another reporter threw a question at him. You didn't even bother listening this time. You just watched his face. That twitch of his mouth when he was trying not to say what he really wanted to say. That calm, serious voice he used like a shield. That stupid, safe, polished version of himself that made you want to throw something at the screen.  

Because you knew the real Sid.  

The one who talked absolute filth into your ear with that same mouth.  

The one who made fun of his teammates the second the cameras were off.  

The one who said “fuck” more than he said “I.”  

And then—then—it happened.  

The reporter asked:  

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Sid. You played a great game. Got any plans tonight?”  

You sat up a little. That one actually surprised you. When did the reporters get so bold?

He gave them that laugh—that stupid, breathy chuckle he only used when he didn’t want to give too much away. Then he smiled, eyes low, lips pressed together like he was fighting off the real answer.  

“No,” he said. “Just recover. Get ready for the next one.”  

That was it. That was all.  

You stared at the TV, jaw slightly open.  

“Recover?” you muttered. “That’s your answer? No wink? No cute little nod? Not even a fucking smirk? You lying sack of shit, Sidney Patrick.”  You looked absolutely nuts talking to yourself.

You picked up your phone and unleashed.  

You: “Just recover,” he says.  

You: Wow. My pussy just dried up.  

You: Say hello to celibacy apparently.  

Still no reply. You fired off another.  

You: You are such a fucking fraud.  

You: There is literally a naked woman in your bed. Right now. At your house.  

You: On Valentine’s Day.  

You: But nooo, he’s gonna “recover.”  

You: Go ahead, Sid. Recover. I’ll just be here. Thinking about life. My choices. The fact I could’ve fucked a dentist. Or literally anyone else but hey.

You bit your lip to hide a smile, watching him wrap the interview up, nodding politely, face locked in full Captain Mode. You could practically feel the tension buzzing under his skin. The itch to get the hell out of there and back to you.  

One more for good measure:  

You: When they say “Crosby keeps his private life quiet,”  

You: They don’t know it’s because he talks so much shit in bed the FCC would fine him.

That did it.

Your phone lit up almost the second he stood from his stall.  

Sid: You need to be stopped.

Sid: You need help.

Sid: I’m not even out of the building yet and I’m hard.

You flopped backward against his pillows, laughing like a lunatic.  

You: I’m sorry did you forget you have a girlfriend? Did your nut brain erase me from memory just because you got first star??

You: Not even a cute little “gonna go home to the girl who’s been letting me rearrange her insides all season”???

You: Also don’t think I didn’t notice your compression shirt. You know exactly what you’re doing you manipulative little slut.

Sid: Jesus Christ

Sid: You knew what you signed up for.

You: I signed up for the hot hockey sex. The rest was a scam.

You: Don’t worry, I’ll be asleep by the time you get home.  

You: No recovering necessary. You’re off the hook.

Sid: You’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow if you keep this up.  

Sid: You want recovery? I’ll give you something to recover from.

You swallowed.  

Slowly.  

Okay.  

So maybe you did like poking the bear.  

And maybe the bear knew exactly how to fuck you into next week.  

You tucked your phone under your pillow and let out a slow breath, heart thudding, a little thrill sparking low in your belly.  

Valentine’s Day.  

Just another game on the calendar.  

Until Sid got home.

And the worst part was, you didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep. One second you were tucked under his sheets, limbs comfortably sprawled, phone still clutched in one hand and TV murmuring softly in the background… and the next, you were blinking against the warm glow of the bedside lamp and squinting up at a very large, very amused, very smug silhouette looming over you.

“Unbelievable,” Sidney muttered, shaking his head as he stood beside the bed. His coat was halfway off, his cheeks still pink from the cold outside, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and that fucking backwards hat still on his head. “All that mouth, and look at you now. Out cold.”

You groaned before you could speak, voice thick with sleep and low like you’d swallowed a blanket. “'M not.”

“You literally just snored,” he said, dropping his bag to the floor with a thud and crouching beside the bed. “Like a full-on little cartoon snore. Tiny inhale, wheeze on the exhale. Real cute.”

“I did not snore,” you mumbled into the pillow. But your voice was gravelly, throat dry, and goddammit—your limbs were heavy with sleep, and he smelled so good, and everything was so warm.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a few strands of hair off your cheek. “Talked all that shit and knocked yourself out.”  

You shifted slightly, nose scrunching, a quiet little groan escaping your throat.

“Mmph.”  

He grinned. Leaned in close to your ear.  

“Babe.”  

Nothing.  

“Babe.” He kissed your cheek. “Hey. Hey. Wake up.”  

You grunted, rolling slightly. “M’tired…”  

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, barely lifting your head from the pillow.

“…What time is it?”

“Late. Or early. Depends who you ask.” He pressed a kiss to your hair. “You passed out. Didn’t even make it to Valentine’s Day sex.”

You groaned again, voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to. Your bed is criminally warm. I got cozy. My body betrayed me.”

“You talked a lot of shit.”

“Yeah well, I thought you were gonna be faster.”

He laughed low in his chest, slipping his hand beneath the covers to grab your hip and give it a squeeze. He climbed onto the bed with all the smug grace of a man who had absolutely earned this moment of superiority. He leaned down, one knee pressing into the bed right between your legs, and shoved at the covers just enough to catch a glimpse of your legs tangled beneath his sheets.

“You look real cozy for someone who was talking an awful lot of shit about how boring I am,” he said, tone low and teasing.

You squinted at him, your voice a gravelly whisper.

“You are boring. You literally said, ‘recover.’ Who says that on Valentine’s Day? Recover from what, Sidney? Being 37?”

He let out a sharp laugh and pushed your hair back from your face, warm fingers brushing your cheek.

“You’re a little shit,” he murmured.

“And you’re a liar.” You poked a finger into his chest. “You lied to the media. There was an actual naked girl waiting for you in your bed and you gave them the ‘I’m gonna rest up’ speech like a fucking priest.”

Sid rolled his eyes.

“You know I can’t give them anything,” he said. “They’ve been trained like bloodhounds. If I so much as hint at having plans, I’ll have a fucking headline on every sports page tomorrow.”

“God forbid people find out you’re not a virgin,” you deadpanned.

“Watch it,” he warned playfully. “I am a role model.”

You burst out laughing, head tipping back into the pillow.

“Oh my god, you are so full of shit. You talk like you’re running for office, but then you come home and say things like, ‘c’mere, baby, I’ve been thinking about fucking you against the kitchen counter since warmups.’”

He grinned. “Still true, by the way.”

You hummed and looped your arms around his neck lazily.

“You missed your shot then, Captain Celibate. Shouldn’t have let me fall asleep.”

Sid smirked and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Didn’t realize the threat of dick was the only thing keeping you awake.”

“You should’ve. It’s your strongest feature.”

He laughed again, breath warm against your cheek, before ducking his head to kiss you properly—slow and deep and good, like he had all the time in the world. You melted into it, arms tightening around his neck, legs shifting beneath the covers until you hooked one behind his bent knee, dragging him closer.

Then he nuzzled into your neck again and added, low and dirty:  

“You wanna go back to sleep, or you want me to give you something real to recover from?”  

You groaned dramatically. “You are such a whore, oh my god.”  

“And yet, here you are. In my bed. Wearing my shirt. Wet for me in your sleep, probably.”  

“Shut up—”  

“You were,” he said smugly, dragging his hand up your thigh. “I checked. You twitched.”  

You covered your face with both hands. “You’re disgusting.”  

“You’re worse,” he said, kissing down your throat. “And when you wake up tomorrow sore as hell, I want you to remember who was ready when the moment came, and who—” he nipped your collarbone— “took a nap.”  

“Sidney.”  

“Y/n.”  

You sighed, dropped your hands, and stared up at him.  

“You gonna fuck me or give another locker room interview?”  

He grinned. And with that, he kissed you again, deep and slow and fucking smug. You could feel the smile on his mouth, even as he pressed you back into the mattress like you were the only thing worth coming home to.  

"Holy shit," you said, breathless as he tugged your shirt up over your hips, revealing those barely there red panties you wore when you knew he’d be seeing them. Lacy. Dark. A tiny bow on the waistband.

Sid looked smug. “I’m so obsessed with you, it’s disgusting.”

“You're disgusting,” you corrected, but you were already arching up, letting him pull the shirt over your head. 

He laughed low, all pleased with himself. "You love it."

His hand slipped a little higher, fingertips grazing the side of your hip where your underwear were just barely clinging to your curves.

You sucked in a breath you tried to pretend was casual. "Sid," you warned.

"What?" he drawled, blinking down at you like he hadn’t just started setting your entire nervous system on fucking fire. You lifted your head, giving him a look. "You’re fucking pushing it."

Sid grinned, so goddamn starved it made your toes curl. "You need me to spell it out, Y/N Y/LN?" he teased, voice dropping into that dangerous gravel. "Need me to tell you how bad I wanna fuck you?"

You groaned, covering your face with both hands like that could somehow save you. "Jesus Christ, Sidney."

He pulled your hands away, kissing your knuckles like a fucking gentleman, even while his other hand kept creeping higher up your thigh.

"Could just be gentle," he murmured, kissing the inside of your wrist now, right over your pulse. "Real slow, babe. Let you sit on my cock nice and easy. You barely gotta do anything. I'll do all the fuckin' work."

You whimpered, and he fucking heard it.

He grinned harder, absolutely predatory now, shifting to hover over you more fully, careful not to press too much weight onto you.

"Bet you miss it," he murmured against your ear, lips brushing your skin. You literally had sex in his bed this morning but you hated that he was right, you did miss it.

"Sid," you gasped, arching your back automatically, and fuck, he hadn't even touched you properly yet.

He chuckled low and mean, dragging his mouth along your throat, nipping lightly. "Tell me, baby," he rasped. "Tell me how bad you want it."

You shoved at his chest weakly, more for show than anything else. "I hate you," you breathed. "I fucking hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, grinning into your hair. "You love this dick though."

You burst out laughing, half-horrified and half-scorched alive. "You are so fucking nasty," you managed between giggles, pinching his arm lightly.

He caught your hand easily, pressing it down above your head, pinning you with almost no effort. "And you're so fuckin' wet for me right now, I can feel it through your goddamn panties," he grunted, pressing his hips into yours just enough to make you feel the thick, heavy line of him behind his dress pants.

You whimpered again, biting your lip. "Sid," you whispered desperately.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Say it," he ordered softly. "Say you want me."

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing hard.

It was so unfair, how good he was at this. How easily he turned you into this trembling, needy thing even when you thought you had the upper hand for most of the day

But he looked at you like you were the best part of his night. Like he couldn’t wait to ruin you in the best goddamn way.

You cracked your eyes open, meeting his gaze. "I want you," you whispered. "You asshole."

Sid’s grin turned downright feral.

"Yeah?" he rasped, nuzzling into your jaw, his hand finally — finally — sliding under your panties, the rough pads of his fingers skimming where you were already slick and throbbing for him. "Good," he murmured. "‘Cause you're not gettin' away from me, princess. Not tonight."

You gasped as his fingers slipped deeper, teasing, and you clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into the solid muscle there.

"Sid," you panted. "Bed’s gonna break if you fuck me the way you're lookin' at me right now."

He laughed low, dirty, and thrilled. "Then we'll buy a new one," he said, voice rough as he sank two fingers into you slowly and deep. "Hell, babe, we'll break every goddamn bed from here to fuckin' Canada if it means I get to feel you come around me again."

You moaned helplessly, arching into him.

And when he bent down, kissed you— really kissed you, slow and filthy and possessive — it felt like a promise burned into your skin.

Sid could’ve fucked you stupid in under thirty seconds if he wanted. The way you were already whimpering under him, writhing in his hands, he knew it wouldn’t take much.

But tonight — tonight he wanted to be slow. He wanted to wreck you proper. Melt every bone in your goddamn body.

He slipped his fingers out of you with a slow, slick sound that made you whimper again. He fucking loved that sound. Loved everything about you like this — messy and needy and all his.

"You gotta relax, baby," Sid murmured, dropping kisses along the flushed line of your throat, working his way lower. "Can't be tense on me. Gotta stay nice and easy for me."

Sid pulled back from your body just enough to catch you breathless— just enough to see you, all flushed and desperate, lips swollen, hair a wild halo against the pillows. His heart punched hard against his ribs.

"Fuckin' hell, Y/N," he muttered, staring at you like he couldn’t decide whether to devour you whole or build a shrine at your feet. "Look at you."

You whimpered and tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging gently, begging him wordlessly to keep going.

Sid huffed a soft, broken laugh, dragging your panties slowly — so slowly — down your thighs, baring you completely to him. He didn’t just toss them. No. He pocketed them. Smirked while he was doing it. Like the absolute sex demon he was.

And he was hard. So hard it was actually starting to hurt. He was damn near grinding in his pants for some kind of friction.

He pressed a kiss right between your breasts, trailing down your belly. You shivered so hard it made the mattress creak.

Sid grinned against your skin. "You already taste so fuckin' sweet," he muttered, nosing at your core, not even touching you properly yet, just letting the heat of his breath drive you crazy. "Bet you could get me drunk off your pussy right now, baby. All thick and fuckin' sweet just for me."

"Oh my god, Sidney," You gasped, tossing your head back. "You're fucking filthy."

"Yeah, well," he said, voice low and smug. "You like it, baby. You like havin' me mouth off about how sweet your pussy is when you’re desperate."

You made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob, and Sid finally gave you what you needed — flattening his tongue and dragging it up through your folds, slow and deep.

Your entire body jerked.

"Jesus fuck, Sid," you gasped, arching off the bed, thighs trembling.

He groaned into you, his hands sliding under your ass to tilt you up even closer to his mouth. "You’re fuckin’ drippin', babe," he muttered, voice vibrating against your soaked skin. "Beggin' for it. Haven’t even touched my cock yet and you’re already so fuckin' close, huh?"

"Fuck you," you moaned, trying to close your thighs around his head — he loved when you did that, so desperate you wanted to trap him there.

Sid laughed low, all smug satisfaction, and stiffened his tongue to shove into your leaky entrance, bobbing in and out like he was starving. Every little whimper, every twitch of your hips, just made him harder, his cock aching in his dress pants.

He shifted one hand, dragging two fingers back inside you, pumping slow, gentle strokes in and out while he circled your clit with his tongue, slow and deliberate. His fingers moved slow between your legs, curling deep, working that perfect rhythm only he knew. Your thighs quivered, trying to clamp shut, but he squared his shoulder and pushed them open lazily. "None a' that," he said, smirking. "You’re taking it, baby. Not hidin’ from me now. Not after all that shit you talked on my phone."

You clawed at the dress shirt he was still wearing, trying to yank him back up. "You’re such a fucking dick," you gasped. "Coulda just got me some flowers and left me the fuck alone—"

Sid grinned, slow and greedy, dragging the how tongue down your slick folds, circling your clit just hard enough to make your hips jerk. "And miss this?" he murmured. "Babe, you’re better than Christmas. Better than a fuckin’ playoff win."

He pushed your shirt up higher until your breasts were exposed, beautiful and tender. He palmed one carefully, thumb brushing across your hardening nipple, and you gasped, your legs falling further open for him.

"Sensitive, huh, baby?" he whispered, watching you squirm. "Bet you could come just from my mouth on you right now, no hands, nothing."

"You’re fucking killing me," you moaned, lifting your hips helplessly, trying to get more friction.

He laughed again — slow, dangerous — and dipped his head to take your clit back into his mouth, sucking softly, then harder, pulling a desperate, broken sound from your throat.

You fisted his hair, hips rocking mindlessly against his face, your whole body tightening.

"Sid, fuck," you gasped, "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He lifted his head, grinning at your flushed, wrecked face. "You gonna come for me already, baby? Just from my fuckin' fingers?" he teased, pumping them harder now, twisting his wrist so his palm rubbed against your clit perfectly. "Fuck, that's hot. Goddamn, you're perfect. So fuckin' good for me,Y/N."

"Jesus–Fuck–Sidney." you cried out, arching hard off the bed as you came, gripping his wrist as if to tell him not to stop, body shuddering, your pussy clenched down so hard around his fingers it almost hurt, soaking his hand and mouth with a gush that made Sid groan into you.

He kept working you through it, slow and patient, until you were trembling, whimpering, utterly wrecked.

He kissed you again, deep and slow, until you went boneless against the sheets, gasping for air.

He pulled his fingers out finally, dragging them slow between your thighs, teasing your slit just to hear you whimper again. Then he sucked his fingers into his mouth, groaning low like you were the best fucking thing he'd ever tasted.

You slapped his chest weakly. "You're disgusting," you muttered, still breathless, half-dazed.

Sid grinned and grabbed your hand, pressing it to the bulge straining against the front of his now wrinkled pants. "Yeah? Feel how bad you got me, baby?" he rasped. "’M about two seconds away from blowin' my load like a fuckin' teenager over here."

You laughed, exhausted and glowing and a little feral around the edges. "Good," you whispered, hooking your legs around his waist. "Now fucking do something about it, Crosby."

He stripped his shirt off one-handed, tossing it somewhere behind him, before finally, finally undoing his jeans.

His cock sprang free, hard and leaking, and you made a broken, desperate sound that made Sid’s heart squeeze. Your mouth actually watered.

“Baby… fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and rough as he guided your hands above your head, he tapped his tip against your slick folds, nudging your clit teasing the both of you, you instinctively moved forward, preparing for more stimulation, “You ready for me, huh?”

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the warmth of the head pressing against your entrance, so close yet so far. You could barely form words, the need building inside you too overwhelming, and all you could do was let out a shaky breath, your hips shifting slightly against him. “Mhmmm,” you murmured, your voice trembling with anticipation. “need you.”

With a groan, Sidney shifted above you, his hands holding your hips as he slowly pushed his length into you, slowly, inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming—your heat, your tightness, the way you stretched around him as he filled you. He couldn’t hold back the curse that slipped from his lips as he bottomed out inside you, his breath ragged as he held you close.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned into your neck, "tightest fuckin' thing, swear to god...made for me."

Sid stayed still for a moment, just breathing, letting you adjust, feeling your soft, fluttering muscles pulsing around him.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back further into the pillow as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. The stretch was delicious, filling you completely, and the slow, steady throb of him buried deep inside made your pulse race. You could feel every inch of him, the way he fit perfectly against that gummy spot inside you, and it made you dizzy with need.

It took every ounce of control he had not to just start pounding into you like a goddamn animal.

Instead, he pulled out slow, almost all the way, and slid back in with one long, careful thrust that made you whimper and dig your heels into the mattress.

"That’s it," he murmured against your temple. "Just like that, princess. Let me take care of you."

He fucked you slowly—long, hard, deep strokes,  savoring every twitch and gasp and curse. You arched under him, hips pushing up, body moving with his like you’d been built just for this.

The sound of his hips hitting the back of your thighs filled the room. He kept a first grip on your hips as he continued a consistent pace. At some point your brain just melted. Your eyes could no longer focus on him above you and your mouth hung open, moans no longer falling from your lips. The only thing you could do was tighten around him.

Sid could feel you getting close. He dropped down, his chest pressing right up to yours stopping his thrusts. But in your cockdrunk you started to grind upwards when Sidney wouldn’t move. Caught between needing the break but also wanting him to continue.He wanted this to last though. 

And just like that, he was sitting back, pulling you up with him. Chest to chest, you were now on top. His lips catching yours in something deeper now—hotter, messier. You gasped as he lifted you slightly, maneuvering with muscle memory and intention, letting you sink down completely onto his cock.

“I got you,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back, the other moving down to stroke your thigh. “Just move how you want. I’ll follow your lead.”

You couldn’t answer — too full, too overwhelmed, too in love — so you just sat on your knees and began rocking your hips in desperation. He knew you were getting impatient. It was in the way your hips started moving impatiently against his aching cock. He knew you needed to come and that you were close. It was in the way you took everything he gave you, every rough upward thrust, every whispered praise.

You leaned forward, one hand braced on his broad shoulder, the other tangled in his hair as you rode him slowly — hips rolling in little waves, the angle hitting all the right places, making your whole body quake.

“‘M close Sid,” you whispered, gasping when his thumb found your swollen clit again.

“Good,” he said hoarsely, “You need it. Look at you. All needy and swollen. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You know that?”

“Don’t stop ohmygodohgodfuck-” you whined, burying your face in his neck.

Sidney couldn’t stop even if he tried to. You’re too damn addicting.

He starts to thrust upward, matching the pace in which you're riding him. He desperate to watch you fall apart on top of him. He pushes two fingers into your mouth, you instinctively start sucking on them as if they’re his cock.

“There she is,” he whispers, rough and low.

You clamp down around his cock, coming hard and fast. It rolled through you in heavy, pulsing waves–warm and all consuming–pulling a wrecked cry from your lips.

“Fucking–Jesus–I’m–Goddammit Sid–”

Sidney came with a deep, desperate groan, burning his face in your neck as his cock twitched inside of your pussy. He emptied himself inside, thrusting up lazily a few times, fucking his come deep inside of you, even as you writhe above him in overstimulation. He watches as his cock drags in and out of you, a circle of your cream circling the base as his come leaks down his length and down to his balls. 

Sid pressed you back onto the mattress, unintentionally thrusting his softened cock into you. You whine softly, already spent and tired and ready for bed. He presses gentle kisses to the side of your face.

“You okay?”

“Mm.” You mumble softly, already drifting off.

You had all the time in the world now. Sid had made damn sure of that.

--

i said i was a fan of lando…. i never said i was a lando fan….

Whenever anything is not going his way, he lashes out with unnecessary anger and borderline violence.