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THINKIN ABOUT YOU, charles leclerc

summary. in which, charles is in love with his childhood best-friend. [your name] is in love with her childhood best-friend. but everything is much more complicated. (2)

pairing. charles leclerc x arabic childhood best-friend!reader

warnings. self-consciousness, mentions of alcohol and heartbreaking thoughts/dialogues

side note. i listened to cameras/good ones go interlude while writing, don’t know if it’s the best music to read with lmao but anyway

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“no! i can’t believe you!” your best-friend exclaims through your phone’s speaker. “after years of not seeing each other, he brings his girlfriend to your family dinner!” despite the situation, you can’t help but laugh a little when the girl resumes it. “what did you say?” she asks after a few seconds.

“what do you want me to say? i just smiled like a hmara and tried to make conversation with everyone except Charles and Alexandra. i’m not even gonna lie to you, i didn’t feel like i had a say. it’s been years, he’s got a right to move on” (dumb girl) it feels like my heart tightens painfully when those words come out of my mouth, but it’s just facts.

“what the fuck? of course you have a say! i’m sorry, but the last time you saw him the two of you were deeply in love, things didn’t go as planned and the boy didn’t even try to reach out. now that the two of you finally reunite, he brings his girlfriend without telling anyone. so, yes, you have a word to say—in my book anyway” she sternly says, making me rethink my last words.

“i don’t know” you mumble, readjusting your hair with the help of your bathroom’s mirror.

it’s been two days since the family dinner, or whatever-you-want-to-call-it, and it didn’t turned out the way you excepted. like, really not. first of all, you didn’t except the love of your life to be this beautiful—but you also didn’t except him to bring his girl too.

usually, you didn’t rethink the way God has made you, but when you saw the beautiful girl that definitely took your place, you couldn’t help yourself but become a little self-conscious during the totality of the dinner.

suddenly, the little frizz that your hair adorned were making you look ridiculous; your makeup wasn’t makeup-ing like hers, your pimples were disgusting in front of her clear skin and your thighs were way too big next to her thin and perfect legs.

this girl is everything a guy like Charles is looking for, a girl that really is the opposite of who you are. and it hurts when you excepted dimples to be the man of your life.

“girl, i know you’re overthinking right now” the voice of your friend stops your thoughts. “you know what? get ready, we’re going out tonight!” she declares, already decided.

“you know i can’t, i have way too much work” you explain, even though you know very well in the back of your mind that the girl doesn’t care.

“we’re going out. and if your work for monday is not done tomorrow, i’m helping you. so go get ready!” she says and you chuckle, taking this a sign to go out of your bathroom to find the perfect outfit for tonight, while the girl in your phone hangs up.

you have no idea of where you’re going to, but you play the game anyway, knowing that whatever your friend prepared must be good.

hours pass with the sound of your playlist—the songs loudly playing between the walls of your apartment, while you’re trying to hide your lack of sleep with makeup in front of your vanity’s mirror. quickly, you found yourself ready and about to exit your apartment; only your purse, phone and home keys in hands.

“oh my God, look at you!” your best-friend hypes you up, her hands firmly grabbing at the steering wheel of her car, and the girls in her backseats finally notice you—the three of them complimenting you. “ready to spend a good time?” she asks you when you’re seated next to her, starting the car.

“i hope so!” the four of them laugh, and suddenly it feels like everything’s gonna be alright.

the ride to the restaurant—where the music is apparently just as good as the food and service—goes smoothly, the five of you doing multiple karaokes and videos for each other’s memories. finally, your bestie parks and the next second, you and your girls are entering the restaurant.

putting a foot in this box of colourful lights and loud music makes you realise that you really don’t need much more than this to forget about dimples and his perfect relationship—at least that’s what you think.

“ooooh… i heard the waiters here are handsome” kiara, one of your girls, screams in your ear, trying to make you understand what she’s saying despite the noise. “might be your chance to end the night with a pretty boy!” she smirks, putting her arm around your waist.

you roll your eyes, amused.

one of kiara’s future victim shows you the table that your best-friend has reserved for tonight. a table, not far away from the bar and pretty close to the dance floor, where many people are already dancing. sitting down, your back facing all of the activities behind you—including the restaurant’s entrance.

topics are brought on the table and, soon, the five of you find yourselves laughing at ariana’s jokes and kiara’s weird ass story times.

“what do you girls want to eat and drink?” a waiter asks, his hands resting against the wood of luna’s chair.

shaking off the easiness of the man, since it doesn’t seem to bug luna, everyone orders and when the boy is about to quit your table, you and kiara catch him swiftly slipping something into luna’s hand.

the girl next to you look in your direction, hoping that she didn’t hallucinate this moment, and the little smirk that you send her way reassures her. at least, we know that someone’s night’s gonna be good.

in between two conversations, your orders are brought with your drink, who happens to be alcohol for the half of it, except yours and your best-friend, since she’s the one who’s driving.

in the middle of a bite, you feel a heal being shoved in your leg, making you loudly hiss and look up from your plate of pastas. you encounter your best-friend’s eyes, who silently ask you to grab your phone and to look a it.

you to bestie 🩷

what’s up????

bestie 🩷 to you

do not look

but

i think that charles and his gf just entered the restaurant w a group of friends???? ig

looking up, you swallow the best that you can your pastas—and the news—and pretend to not care by shoving your phone in your purse, hoping that it would suffice for your brain to forget the existence of dimples and his perfect little girlfriend that seems to be everywhere you are.

oh God, what does it have to be that hard?

“i want to dance!” eden says loudly, standing up and fixing her short dress. “who comes?” and suddenly, all of your girls are standing up, two of them grabbing your hands and bringing you with them to the dance floor.

at the beginning, you’re as stiff as a toothpick, the totality of your friends trying to hype you up the best they can. you can’t just brush off the fact that Charles is here, probably seeing you on the dance floor standing ridiculously straight.

but somehow, despite the sweating bodies that are around you and the circumstances, you finally start to let go—dancing with your friends and trying to keep up with their energy. the good musical taste of the dj helps you to relax and enjoy a little bit of your time, even though a certain someone with dimples and green eyes is in the back of your head.

but, you have to fake it till you make it. that’s what the tik-tok girlies say anyway.

“oh, [your name]! i didn’t see you there!” a high pitched voice makes you slow down and look over your shoulder. Alexandra. “how are you doing? i love the outfit!” she smiles, awkwardly wrapping her arms around your shoulders, not waiting for you to say anything about it.

“oh… hi, thank you” you smile, taking a look at her black dress before speaking up. “love your outfit too!” she giggles, apparently tipsy, and detaches herself from you while taking a sip of her glass. it’s been no longer than twenty minutes that she entered the restaurant, and she’s already out of her mind?

“do you want some? it’s piña colada, very good!” the brown haired woman tells you, shoving her glass in your chest—making the cocktail splash and stain your top with yellow. “oh my God! i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to!” she hurriedly says, her eyes widening.

“exactly what i needed” you mutter in between your teeth. “don’t worry, it might just go with water” you don’t even know why you trie to reassure her, when it’s your top that is ruin by her own fault, but you do it anyway.

exiting the dance floor with your eyes fixed on the yellow stains, you don’t look around you, too preoccupied by your silk white shirt to look. instinctively, you push the first door that is presented to you and, luckily, it happens to be the toilets.

grabbing papers and wetting them, you furiously rubs the stains, trying your best to make them disappear. you don’t know why or what makes you want to, but you feel like you’re about to cry in two seconds—and the timing seems to be fake because the tears are already on your cheeks. “oh purée, pourquoi…” (oh gosh, why) your fingers try to stop them, in sake of your expensive concealer, but nothing seems to work.

“tout va bien?” (everything’s alright) a voice speaks up, and you nearly have an attack.

“putain Charles!” (fuck Charles) the boy laughs, but you really don’t feel like laughing right now, so you resume to rubbing your silk top and stopping your tears by looking up to the ceiling.

“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you” he says once he notices that he is not on your good side. “oh gosh, who did that?” the brunette asks, taking a look at your chest full of stains.

“your girlfriend” the words come out way more stern than you excepted, but at this point you do not really care what the boy might think. the worse that he could imagine is that him moving on makes you want to throw up—which might be the reality, but he’ll never know.

“vraiment? désolé, elle est maladroite. fin, je crois” (really? sorry, she’s quite clumsy… i guess) the italian says, words getting stuck in his throat. “do you—”

“leave me the fuck alone” you loudly hiss, the anger that’s been boiling since the dinner slowly resurfacing.

taken aback, Charles can’t help but pause, really not expecting you to lash out. his green eyes widen a little, and his throat is accumulating way too much saliva for him to speak up.

“écoute, je sais que c’était pas du tout droit de ma part de—” (listen, i know that was not so straight of me to—) but he’s being cut by you again.

“shut up. i really don’t need to hear your excuses or whatever-the-fuck-this-is. you quickly moved on, and now you have a beautiful and perfect little girlfriend who seems to love you with all her heart—just like you do—while i’m still stuck in the time when you sweared to me that we’ll have a bright future together. that’s my fault, i put the blame on me, so don’t need to come apologising just for your good conscience” you spit out, tears running down your makeup and making their way in between your moving lips. “vas vivre ton conte de fées avec ta princesse et laisse-moi t’oublier en paix s’il-te-plaît” (go live your fairytale with your princess and let me forget you in peace, please) the papers in your hands are thrown in the bin and, not caring about your makeup anymore, you wipe your tears away.

not waiting for the boy to say anything, you begin to make your way out the bathroom.

but he still sticks to you, just like those fucking yellow stains that are sticking to your skin and bra.

his fingers are wrapped around your wrist and it feels like they’re not about to let go of you now. sighing, he tries to connect your stare to his. “je t’aime” (i love you) eyes deep in yours, he mutters those two words with such intensity and clarity that it makes you want to forget everything and go back to the time where you didn’t have to share him.

but those days are over.

taglist, @chanshintien @d3kstar & others that i can’t mention (????)

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[5k] luke hughes swore he would never tell another soul and take his confession to the grave. that ends as an epic fail as he tells a really pretty girl his most embarrassing secret. luckily for him, she seems pretty eager to help him out.

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It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it was. It really fucking was.

It wasn’t always a big deal. When he was in high school, everybody was just like him. Or at least, most people were. HIs friend group were. And they would always talk about how fun college would be, how everything would change, how everyone grew up and just did it.

And then he went to college and nothing really changed. It was a bit embarrassing, it made his cheeks burn bright red whenever he spoke about it. But it also wasn’t the most unbelievable thing. Between keeping his GPA up, his training regime and the countless games during the season, it wasn’t shocking to anyone that he didn’t have as much free time as movies liked to make it seem like.

But then he moved up. He went from being a kid with a dream to actually living that dream and beyond. A joke from his childhood became a reality when he found himself on the ice with his older brother, wearing the same jersey as his older brother. Suddenly, it was all real and intense and he was in it properly.

But, fuck, it was embarrassing that he was in the National Hockey League and he was a fucking virgin.

In theory, he knew it wasn’t a big deal. It didn’t change the way he played or his performance on the ice. It didn’t affect his professional life in any way, shape or form. But it still made him want to curl up in a corner and shrivel his existence away whenever he thought about it too long.

And it wasn’t like it was obvious. He wasn’t announcing it to the world and rambling on about it in interviews. But the amount of jokes people made about women throwing themselves at his feet or having a turnstile of people in his bed felt like he might as well be.

The awkward laughs and strained smiles would only take him so far before someone caught on.

And that might have been the worst part—the fact that nobody knew. Not his friends in high school nor the ones he made in college. None of his teammates. Not even his brothers (though, the idea of him even telling them whether or not he was a virgin was an experience he would like to avoid all together).

Nobody in the fucking world knew Luke Hughes was a virgin except him and, in a weird way, it was kind of fucking lonely.

Or at least, nobody else knew until he met you.

…

The night he met you had been a few days after the Devils had been kicked out of the playoffs.

Despite the loss, Nico wanted one last team celebration to sign off a good season. Because yes, it fucking sucked that they were knocked out and it sucked they wouldn’t be the ones to lift the Stanley Cup this year. But they still played well, they deserved to appreciate that, to appreciate each other.

And, on a more personal level, it was a chance to celebrate with the NHL team he could now call his home.

He was in the big leagues now. He was in the NHL and he was a professional hockey player and, by the power of some fucking superior being he did not know, he was lucky enough to share a team with at least one of his brothers.

It still felt like a dream.

And with that dream came the joys and perks of being a New Jersey Devil—like not being ID’d in the bar the team commonly visited.

“Takin’ it all in?”

He tore his eyes away from the surrounding bar to look at his brother, perched on the edge of the pool table Nathan and Kevin were currently competing on. He had been happy to just watch, observe—for lack of better terms—take it all in, like Jack assumed.

Instead, he just retorted with, “it’s a bar. Not much to take in that I haven’t seen before.”

“Okay, college boy,” Jack snorted, his cheeks flushed the same shade of red as the vodka cranberries he had been drinking all night. “I meant the big leagues.”

Luke resisted the urge to snort. “Ask me again in a year when it’s actually sunk in.”

Something in Jack’s face softened. “I’m glad you’re here, Moose.”

His throat felt a little tight but he still smiled. “Me too.”

He had assumed that was the end of the conversation, but that was Luke’s first mistake. He hadn’t paid much attention to the way Jack’s eyes roamed around the bar, narrowed like he was looking for something or, in this case, someone.

“What do ya think about her?”

Luke blinked, looking at his brother with a confused glance before he followed his line of vision to some blonde settled against the wall on the other side of the bar.

“What about her?”

Jack shot him a look. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

Luke hesitated, almost as though it was a trick question. “Yes?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound convinced,” he commented. “So, blonde isn’t your type. What is then? Brunettes? Redheads? Miscellaneous?”

“No, I—” Luke frowned. “I’m surprised you even know what miscellaneous means.”

Jack punched his arm in response.

“Why are you asking about my type?” Luke questioned, something that felt a lot like uncertainty bubbling in his stomach.

Jack let out a deep sigh, prolonging it to properly encapture his annoyance. “I’m trying to help you get laid, bud.”

Luke froze.

There was no way Jack could know. He knew that. He did. Logically, it was impossible for his brother to know he was a virgin when Luke had genuinely never admitted as much beyond the age of seventeen. But here he is, seemingly trying to find him someone to sleep with. There was no way he could know, there was no way Jack knew—

“I mean, you’re in the fucking league now, bud. Milk it a little, have some fun!” Jack continued, lost in his own rambles to even notice the way Luke’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I’m sure college was fun and all, but this is better!”

Luke tried to let out a laugh. “I think I’m alright for tonight.”

Jack huffed out in annoyance. “Don’t be a bore! Luke, you’re in the NHL. You just fucking played in the playoffs! Enjoy yourself, man.”

“I am enjoying myself,” Luke countered.

“You’ve been drinking the same beer since we got here,” Jack snapped back with a knowing look. “And I know it tastes like shit because I did the exact same thing when I first ordered a drink here. I’m trying to be your guru, help you avoid the mistakes I made.”

“My guru,” Luke repeated with a snort. “More like an unwanted Cupid.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “C’mon—”

“Focus on yourself.”

“It’s my duty as a brother—”

“I am not staying to listen to this,” Luke grumbled, batting away his brother’s hands as he began to make his way to the bar. As much as he hated to admit it, Jack was right—this beer tasted horrible and not even the tiny sips he had been taking were going to save it.

He settled himself on a free spot at the bar, his elbows placed on the slightly sticky countertop as he peered over to try find a bartender. He saw a few on the other side of the bar finishing off a few drinks and accepted the small wait, a little lost in his own thoughts and whether he wanted to try another drink instead of just settling for something non-alcoholic when a hand settled on his back.

“There you are, babe!”

Luke frowned, turning around to find you staring right back at him with a grin on your face. Honestly, he was expecting to turn around and let the person realise they had made a mistake. But your smile remained on your face, though the wide eyes staring back at him were a little distressing.

“Uh, I think you—” But he was cut off by another voice, a much deeper one this time.

“This is your boyfriend?”

The man was average height and fairly built, but that was all he had going for him. His shirt was definitely a size too small to make him look bigger and the chunky chain looked nothing short of tacky. And Luke may have been in his presence for less than thirty seconds, but the body spray was overwhelming and pungent and made him want to plug his nose.

Now, Luke may be a little slow but he isn’t dumb.

He may be deeply confused by the sudden promotion to boyfriend from a stranger but it didn’t take long for Luke to realise the wide, distressing eyes were a cry for help and the walking embodiment of Axe body spray in a tight shirt was the reason.

“Uh, yeah!” Luke cleared his throat a little, his arm moving to wrap around your shoulders in the least awkward way he could possibly achieve. “She’s my girl! Uh, girlfriend! She’s my—” His cheeks burned but he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving. “She’s my babe!”

The man glanced between you and Luke for a few moments before rolling his eyes, muttering something under his breath about wasting his time before he disappeared into the throng of people crowded by the bar.

“What a dick,” you murmured and it almost made Luke jump when he remembered you were still beside him, that his arm was still around your shoulders. You turned around to look at him once you knew the other guy was gone, and your smile seemed softer now. “Thank you for that, really. You’re a lifesaver.”

“It’s no biggie,” Luke replied, cringing a little before he quickly continued. “Thanks for giving me the honour of being your fake boyfriend.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well, you have a friendly face. You looked like you would go along with it.”

His cheeks burned warmer. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” you grinned before turning to settle in the spot next to him, fingers tapping on the bar counter. “Let me buy you a drink to thank you for your services?”

Luke began shaking his head. “That really isn’t necessary—”

“Please,” you insisted, a softer expression on your face. “It would make me feel better for dragging you into my scheme.”

“I—” He cleared his throat, hoping to some superior being that his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “O-Okay.”

Your grin widened. “Brilliant. What do you want?”

“A Coke.”

“Really?”

“Yes?”

“Okay, no judgement, just surprised,” you said, leaning over the bar to place your drink order along with his before you turned back to the boy. “So, do I at least get to know my fake boyfriend’s name?”

HIs lips twitched upwards. “Luke.”

“Luke,” you repeated before telling him your name, something gleaming in your eyes when you did. “So, Luke, what brings you to a bar on a Monday night to drink Coke?”

“I’m here with some work friends,” he lied easily, not really one to play the professional hockey player card (despite Trevor’s insistence that it was expected to be used for this reason exactly). “Just enjoying the night before we all head off for the summer.”

“Hm, here with your work buddies but staying sober and standing alone at a bar,” you mused. “You’re quite intriguing, Luke.”

“I think that’s a compliment,” he murmured with a frown.

“It is,” you assured him with a smile.

Luke opened his mouth to say something before the familiar voice of his brother reached him.

“LUKEY BOY IS GETTING SOME!”

He shut his eyes, muttering a list of curses under his breath before he finally looked at you with a sheepish expression. “I’m so sorry about him. Just ignore him, he’s a little drunk and—”

“Hey, it’s fine,” you assured him with a laugh. “Work buddy?”

“Mhm,” Luke confirmed with a nod. “And my older brother.”

“That sounds like an intense work environment,” you commented.

“Tell me about it,” he grumbled, but there was still a smile on his face. “I wouldn’t blame you for making a run for it now while you have the chance. Jack will only get worse.”

You waved him off, smiling. “Your brother isn’t scaring me off,” you assured him. “Plus, I said I was intrigued and I’m enjoying talking to you. Makes it seem a lot more believable that you’re my boyfriend if that other dude is lingering around.”

“Yeah, totally,” Luke agreed, something warm bursting in his stomach at the fact you wanted to keep talking to him.

And despite what Jack and the others assume, nothing more happened between the two of you than just talking. It was bittersweet, in a way. Because Luke really enjoyed talking to you that night, even if he knew he would probably never see you again.

But it was nice and it replayed in his head a lot more than he cared to admit that summer.

…

He assumed it was guaranteed that he would never see you again.

So, it was pretty shocking when he did, in fact, see you again at a house party held by one of the boys of all fucking places in the pre-season.

As the new season approached and the overwhelming realisation that he was about to enter his rookie season of the NHL hit him, Luke didn’t even hesitate to accept the invitation for the ‘small get together’ with the boys. These were his teammates, these were the people he was going to have to trust and navigate on the ice with. It seemed like a nice idea to have a few chilled hangouts whilst training dragged everyone back to New Jersey.

What Jack and everyone else had failed to mention was the fact a ‘small get together’ did not just mean the team like he assumed. It meant a house full of people that Luke certainly didn’t know or recognise, but seemed to know exactly who he was.

He was only slightly ashamed to admit that he clung onto Jack’s side as long as he could. But his brother was a social butterfly who liked to jump between different crowds and it was too much for Luke. Instead, he had settled near a couch where John and Kevin had been rambling away to each other when Jack suddenly appeared—out of thin air—with a huge grin on his face.

“Hey, Rusty, is that not your girl from the bar?”

Luke’s brows furrowed together in confusion. “Huh?”

But Jack didn’t say much, just nudging his little brother to look over his shoulder. His lips parted again, prepared to tell Jack that he was drunker than he expected him to be after a few beers, only to find the words stuck in the back of his throat when he turned around and saw you.

He had thought about you more than he cared to admit over the summer. Just random little flashes of the conversations you shared. It was stupid, and a little pathetic, but you just felt…different—in the least cliche way possible.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly his cheeks just heated at the sight of you.

No, correction: it was really fucking embarrassing.

“Aw, did Lukey invite his lil’ crush?” Jack teased, reaching out to mockingly pinch his cheeks but Luke batted his hand away just in time.

“Shut up,” he grumbled before clearing his throat, turning to faze his brother again. “I didn’t. I–I don’t even know why she is here.”

Jack shot him a look. “Go on, then.”

Luke frowned. “What?”

“You are actually clueless,” Jack grumbled under his breath before giving him a hearty shove. “Go talk to her!”

His eyes widened. “What?!”

“Go talk to her,” Jack repeated, not understanding the panic in his younger brother. “You guys were hitting it off at the bar, what’s the big deal? Maybe you can hook up with her again.”

“I—” He started before realising this was not the time to delve into the same argument they had had since the night at the bar. “It’s fine, she probably doesn’t even remember me.”

His brother scoffed. “You’re shitting me, right?”

Luke blinked. “No?”

“Dude, she was all over you!” Jack insisted, giving him another shove that had him stumbling slightly. “Go!”

Luke could feel his cheeks heating up. “Jack—”

“It’s my big brother duty to help you!”

Shove.

“Jack, fuck off. It’s not gonna happen.”

Shove.

“Yes, it will. Stop being a coward.”

Shove.

“Can you stop? I am not—”

Shove.

“Go talk to her!”

Shove.

“No—”

Except, the little shoves and lack of balance with the drinks he had been nursing through the night seemed to catch up on Luke. He stumbled back, his footing gone and his free hand reaching out to grasp Jack or something to stop him from falling. But it was too late. He was stumbling and his drink was sloshing and it went all over—

You.

It went all over you because now you were right there, right in front of him, having just walked across the room to come and see him.

“Oh shit,” Jack muttered from behind him.

You looked down at your shirt—your very white shirt that now had some atrocious red stain splattered across the front from the cocktail John had made him—and stared in shock.

Luke felt his whole body curl in on itself, his face burning and his chest feeling oddly tight. “I am so sorry—”

But, to his fucking shock (because you seemed to shock him a lot, if he was honest), you looked up at him and laughed.

“Unlucky timing, huh?” You joked but Luke didn’t feel like laughing.

“I can—” But he paused, not even sure what he was going to say.

“Liking the colour red a little too much there, Cherry!” A voice from somewhere in the crowd—Luke genuinely wasn’t sure where—called out and your face brightened.

“It’s a good thing I can pull it off!” You retorted, unfazed by the name.

Cherry.

Usually, Luke would chalk it up to his memory being fairly shit and the months that had passed since that night in the bar making him confuse your name for something else. Except, the boy had practically relived that night in his head on a constant loop. Every word. Every sentence. Every second of it.

Pathetic? Yes.

Helpful? Probably not in any way, shape or fucking form except for the fact he was certain your name was not Cherry. He was more than certain. At least, he was certain that wasn’t the name you had told him.

There were so many logical and simple reasons, he knew that deep down. But right now, Luke was embarrassed and flustered and he had this horrible inkling that you told him a fake name in case you thought he was a creep at the bar like the guy he saved you from and—

Yeah, Luke really didn’t like the idea of that. He didn’t like the idea of being paired in a category with that man. And he certainly didn’t like the idea that he made you uncomfortable enough to give him a fake name, even if he had given you no real reason to do otherwise.

Someone pushed through the crowd as Luke continued to spiral in his own thoughts, unable to even get a coherent sentence out when Nico glanced between you and him. He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he offered you an apology before he turned to Luke.

“You can show her where the bathroom is, right?”

And, fuck, he really thought this was the closest he could reach to ever feeling something close to hatred towards his captain.

Luke nodded his head, unable to get a word out and nodded towards the stairs.

You seemed to catch his hint well enough as you turned to head towards the stairs. Until your hand was reaching back, taking his in your grasp and intertwining your fingers together and Luke’s brain short circuited all over again.

“Get it, Moose!”

Jack was pretty high on that almost-hate list too.

Luke felt like his body was on autopilot as he moved towards the stairs, letting you lead him up with your hands still connected until you reached the top. You looked at him expectantly and he led you towards the bathroom—one of the larger ones because he thought he would die if he was trapped in a small, enclosed space with you after he just spilled his drink all over you.

He opened the door, flicking the light on before stepping aside and letting you head inside. Except, the world seemed to have something against him, you dragged him into the bathroom behind you, your hands still connected, and grinned at him.

“Help a girl out?”

Luke cleared his throat but nodded.

He tried not to think too hard when you eventually dropped his hand. He tried not to think too hard when you locked the bathroom door. He tried not to think too hard as you glanced at him through the mirror.

And he was doing well until you went and pulled your shirt over your head.

His eyes widened, a spluttered noise of surprise leaving his lips as his eyes instantly snapped to the ceiling. But it was useless, he could already feel his blush crawling down his neck and burning hot.

“Relax,” you laughed. “I’m not giving you the full show. Just need to get this stain out.”

“Mhm,” he hummed but his eyes remained on the ceiling.

“Luke?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Uh huh.”

You let out a hum, like you didn’t quite believe him but you didn’t seem to push further. Instead, he heard the tap turn on and the water started running and suddenly, the bigger bathroom didn’t feel big enough.

“I’m not a creep!” He blurted out.

You paused. “Is that why you are staring at the ceiling? To prove you aren’t a creep?”

“No, well—” He cut himself off and let out a deep breath. “No, I just…your friend called you Cherry down there. You gave me a different name. I just…didn’t want you to think you had to give me a fake name because I was a creep. Granted, you don’t owe me anything but I just wanted to assure you—”

“Luke?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think you’re a creep. And I didn’t lie about my name either,” you said, your voice a little softer this time. “People just call me Cherry.”

And for a boy who ate, lived and breathed a sport that classically gave stupid nicknames to everyone and everything, he had never felt quite this dumb.

“Oh.”

“Are you going to look at me now?”

He waited for a moment. And then another. And then, before he chickened out of it, he lowered his gaze until he met yours—and didn’t let his eyes wander any further.

“You’re an interesting boy,” you mused, tilting your head to the side.

His brows furrowed together. “Thank you?”

You grinned at his response before you turned back to the sink, seamlessly continuing to scrub your shirt under the running tap.

Luke watched you for a few moments, trying to just stew in the silence and let you do your work. But the seconds kept ticking by and the silence was becoming more stifling and there was only so much he could handle before he wanted to rip his eyes out.

“I’m sorry about my brother, by the way,” he said when he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “He’s a lil’ enthusiastic but he means no harm.”

“He seems quite desperate to get you laid,” you noted, your eyes briefly finding him in the mirror again. “A lot of your friends do.”

His cheeks burned again. “They do that with everyone. They just like to be wingmen, you know?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly on him. “But it makes you uncomfortable.”

You say it like a fact, not a question.

Luke choked a little. “Well—”

“Why not just tell them to back off?” You questioned and Luke welcomed the fresh, bitter twinge of embarrassment that washed over him.

“Because they would ask questions,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just easier to let them mess about.”

You looked intrigued now. “Why?”

Luke shifted under the intensity of your gaze. “Because then they would ask why I didn’t want to hook up with anyone.”

You raised your brows. “Not a one-night stand kind of man?”

And honestly, he should have just cut the conversation there. He should have deflected the topic onto something else or gave some vague answer. Hell, even telling you to mind your own business was a better answer. But the alcohol made him feel buzzed, your presence was overwhelming and—for the first time in his life—Luke found himself blurting out the words he swore he would take to the grave.

“Because I’m a virgin.”

You blinked. And he fucking waited for it.

He waited for you to laugh. He waited for you to laugh and howl and cackle at his pathetic admission. To mock him, to tease him, to make him feel worse than he already felt. He waited and waited and waited.

And it never came.

“And you can’t tell them that?” You questioned.

“I, uh,” Luke shook his head, his stomach somersaulting inside him in the worst ways possible. “No, it’s a little…taboo in my line of work.”

You turned to actually look at him instead of gazing at him in the mirror. “Are you a sex worker?”

Luke spluttered, shaking his head. “What? No! No, I…I’m a hockey player.”

You frowned a little. “Hockey players can’t be virgins?”

“Well, it’s not like a set rule but like,” he paused, waving his hands around like that explained everything. But you still looked confused and Luke knew he had to keep talking. “Everyone just kinda expects hockey players to be some kind of…sex god. Or something. I don’t know. All I know is that it’s not really common to be a virgin in the league.”

“Okay,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest—where you still stood in only a bra covering yourself. “So, like, are you a virgin…by choice?”

“Oh my god,” Luke groaned, bringing his hands to cover his face before it got even more red.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way!” You assured him. “I was just curious.”

“Nobody was supposed to know,” Luke grumbled into his hands, but you seemed to understand him well enough.

“I won’t tell a soul,” you promised.

But the damage was done and Luke wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and drag him into the depths of the Earth.

He needed to get out of this bathroom. He needed to get out and go downstairs, rush through a flurry of goodbyes to the team before he quickly escaped and headed home where he could hide his embarrassment in a large tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream that certainly wasn’t in his meal plan.

He just needed to turn around, unlock the door and slip out before you had the chance to—

“What if I helped you?”

Yeah, that was not what he expected.

His hands dropped from his face as he stared at you, his expression almost blank except for the confusion shining in his eyes. “Huh?”

“What if I helped you?” You repeated.

“Helped me with what?”

“Being a virgin,” you said with a shrug. “It seems like it’s really important to you, or something. And I think you are bigging it up in your head a little more than necessary. Maybe you just need someone to give you a helping hand, you know? Guide you through it, help you learn. No pressure, yeah?”

He blinked. “And…you would do that?”

“Yeah, why not,” you answered honestly with a shrug of your shoulders. “You intrigue me, Luke.”

“I intrigue you,” he repeated slowly, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“It’s not a bad thing to be intriguing.”

“It is when you make it sound like I’m some kind of experiment.”

You flashed him a softer smile and something in his chest eased a little. “You don’t have to say yes, it was just a suggestion. Just…a new friend helping her new friend out.”

New friend.

Luke swallowed. “And…what would you gain from this?”

You sighed, shrugging your shoulders again. “Honestly? I’ve had my fair share of disappointing experiences in bed by guys who think they are sex gods. Call it a gift to womankind if I help at least one guy be competent and capable in bed.”

He blinked. “Right. Gift to womankind. That’s me.’

You snorted. “Just think about it, yeah? Obviously, you can go about with whatever you are doing. Just a suggestion to make a casual thing out of it, to help take the stress away. It’s your choice, Luke.”

It was his choice.

He knew it was his choice and, despite knowing little about you, some stupid part of him trusted that you were being genuine. You were odd but you were sincere, and he knew your offer was sincere too. If he took you up on it, you would help him out. If he declined, you wouldn’t push the matter any further and just move on in your life.

No more words were exchanged after that, the offer lingering and the tap still running as the red stain showed no signs of budging under the soap and cold water. He knew he didn’t have to give you an answer there and then.

But the worst part was that Luke was pretty fucking sure he knew what his answer was the first time the offer left your lips.

And he pretty sure the remaining stain on your shirt was some sort of bad omen from the universe that already liked to tease him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He was fucking done being a twenty year old virgin and you were his solution to the problem.

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adoristsposts · 2 months

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adoristsposts · 3 months

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they struck gold with this ad from last years playoffs like i still find myself thinking about it now

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adoristsposts · 3 months

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hi this totally isn't a website where you can get getty images pictures without the watermark and you totally shouldn't use it 🍻

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adoristsposts · 4 months

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The Next One / Antigonick, Anne Carson

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adoristsposts · 6 months

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HI GUYS i'm writing a justin req rn but i am alsooo working on something long and fun that lowkey is kinda like icebreaker? anyway hope u guys will enjoy it whenever it ends up coming out ;)

#adoristsposts

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adoristsposts · 7 months

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Y/n and Justin Herbert have a 3 month old and in the middle of the night their baby starts to cry, y/n is exhausted from getting up every night to care for a crying child Justin notices and takes over for the night, the baby and him have a bonding moment he talks and soothes the baby.

author's note; i neeeeed to write for hockey but he is the only thing on my mind i can't help myself summary; a kid was all the two of you could think about for ages- but now that your daughter is officially in the world, the late nights and early mornings aren't exactly easy. word count; 0.9K warnings; mention of vomit, pregnancy + babies, mention of sex, unedited characters; Reader x Justin Herbert

Having a baby with Justin was one of the best decisions you had ever made. It fell right in front of marrying him in the first place. And both of you had reaped the benefits of your pregnancy. Attention and gifts made the sore back and swollen ankles worth it. Justin had even been stopped by a few players he looked up to to be congratulated and given tips. Hell, Jason Kelce had reached out, which sent you into a bit of a fangirl fit. And while you had found Justin sexy as hell before hand, nothing made him more beautiful to you than watching him with your baby. He could be covered in her vomit, for gods sake, and you'd still be convinced he was the most gorgeous sight you had ever seen.

He still had football, though. He spent as little time at practice as he could, but the chunk of the day he was gone had led to a firm agreement: he dealt with her at night. "She gets me all day," you told him. "I will put milk in a bottle and you will let me sleep through the night." Which never fully worked out. You were easier to raise from sleep than he was. It got to the point where exhaustion crept up on you and you were snappy and annoyed all day. You would stomp around the house, calming yourself only for the baby or Justin. Once, his brother had made the mistake of saying the house was a mess and Justin had to laugh and put his arm around you to stop you from throwing a dinner plate at his head.

So this time, when the sound of her crying woke him, Justin told you to go back to bed and that he would deal with it. He groaned as he padded across the room and took her out of her crib. His height was not an advantage when it came to leaning over it. "Hi, pretty," He greeted, taking her out of the room with him. The pet name had come to him out of nowhere- as a family of all boys, neither he nor his brothers had ever been called 'pretty'. But by god, was his daughter beautiful. She coughed with her mouth open, threw up on him, burped, and did all other bodily functions with no shame, but to him she was perfect because she looked like the two of you. Which sounded insane- she was three months old with barely a hair on her head, but he could feel the resemblance in his soul more than see it. Sappy. He was becoming sappy. He cooed to her and bobbed her in his arms to calm her down as he looked in the fridge for the milk you had put aside. "You hungry baby?" He asked when she finally stopped crying. He groaned over dramatically as he put her in her high chair to amuse her. The giggle that came out of her sent his heart soaring.

Warming the bottle usually took a while. So he moved her chair to where he could see her and the water. "You wanna hear about how me and mommy met? Or my teammates?" The second one elicited another giggle. "I would obviously rather tell you about my wonderful wife, but sweaty guys work too," He joked. He explained football to her, as he had done before and would continue to do. His daughter was going to grow up to be as big a football fan as he could get her to be. He continued on, talking about recent trades and injuries, inside jokes, the ones he was sure she would like when she started being able to really comprehend what was going on around her.

"Did you know, when you came, I had the doctors convinced your mom had an affair?" Justin told her. She looked up at him with big blue eyes and it was almost as if she wanted him to continue. "There's this quote from the Grinch- you'll start quoting things, soon- where he says 'Hey, honey! Our baby's here! He looks just like your boss,'" Justin laughed to himself at the memory. "I said it to your mom, you see, when you popped out of her. And the nurses and doctors were mortified- they thought I was serious! It was so embarrassing to have to explain to them I was quoting the Grinch." Her bottle was ready, and so he scooped her back up and began to feed her. "If you throw up on me I'm going to have to show up to practice in one of your mom's blouses- I am fresh out of clothes," he warned. The food went down smoothly, thank God.

He rocked her until she fell back asleep. When he turned to walk back into your room, you were standing in the doorframe. "I told you to go back to sleep," Justin said softly. You smiled and padded over to him. "You're very good with children." "Thanks. I practiced on my hamster," Justin finished the quote. He pressed a kiss on your forehead when you reached him. "You're so handsome," You told him, "I love watching you with her." "Careful," Justin warned, "we have a roommate- no sex, I'm afraid." "Mmm," You hummed, "She'll get a sibling as soon as she moves into her own room."

#adoristsposts #anon request #justin herbert fluff #justin herbert #justin herbert fic #la chargers #la chargers fic #nfl #nfl fic #nfl fluff #he is giving me baby fever #i actually saw a photo of him with kids the other day and tweeted it with the caption 'i understand the whole baby fever thing now'

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adoristsposts · 7 months

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I’m literally freaking out in the best possible way!! You write for Justin Herbert, like nobody writes for him but I adore him but never have anything to read about him and I’m just squealing over your writing because it’s so good and cute and I feel like I’m finally being fed!

thank u omg this means sm to me

i literally got into football like at the start of the season and randomly put herbert on my fantasy team bc he sounded familiar and oh my godddd have i totally fallen in love w him (and the chargers) so i obviously ran to tumblr and there really is such a lack of fics abt him like someone please!!

#adoristsposts #anon ask

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adoristsposts · 7 months

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hi i love your writing! could you possibly do justin herbert and reader breaking up but then they rekindle and it’s a happy ending?

author's note; anons treating me so well u guys have better ideas than i do icl summary; alcohol and not being over your ex doesn't exactly mix well- unless, of course, your ex seems just as hung up on you. word count; 1K warnings; drinking, swearing characters; Reader x Justin Herbert

You let a loud sigh escape your lips the second your apartment door shut behind you. You placed a palm on the door, using it for support as you slipped off your heels and let your bare feet sink into the carpeted floor. "Jesus," you muttered to yourself. Without missing a beat, you headed to your fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. You set your purse down on the kitchen island and, wine bottle in hand, padded over to the couch. You turned it on and, of course, your ex-boyfriend's face filled the screen. "It was just a flesh wound." He told the press before you could switch the channels. Your hand paused, hovering over the Netflix icon you had been meaning to press. A flesh wound? You couldn't stop yourself from pulling your phone out and googling it. Three years later you were unable to resist the need to know he was okay. His dismissal of it on television seemed reasonable, you decided as you scrolled through a few articles. But then a few articles became a highlight reel. And then media posts. And then his Instagram. He still followed you from back when the two of you had dated. You remembered his management encouraging him to make the account, and how, despite the fact he didn't run it, he had made sure you were one of the few hundred he followed back.

The split had been amicable. Your post-college heart had been absolutely broken, but Justin was moving to LA and you couldn't handle the distance. The two of you tried keeping in contact for a few months, but the second he was spotted with another woman you shut down. By the time you had sorted out your feelings for him, it felt too embarrassing to reach out. Now, ironically, you were in LA. And you wished you had held on to contact. Because god damn was dating in LA boring. The one you had just returned from had entailed a Chiefs fan mansplaining football to you and complaining about Taylor Swift- all because you had peeked past his shoulder to get a look at the Niners' score. You forced yourself to close your phone. You stood up and walked over to the closest mirror, checking yourself out. You had done your hair and makeup and picked a cute outfit- even worn heels!- just for the guy to be a tool. You smoothed out your shirt. Fuck it, you told yourself. You texted your best friend. Wanna go out? Absolutely, bitch. She replied.

The next morning you woke up with a pounding headache. How you had gotten home, or what exactly had happened the night before, you had no idea. You groaned loudly and leaned over to grab your phone off the nightstand. The notifications that greeted you were so mortifying you were sure you were going to puke. Seven missed calls from Justin, three voicemails, and five text messages. There was no chance in hell you were looking at any of those. You took an everything shower, blew out your hair, painted your nails, and made yourself food. Who knew that your ex-boyfriend could be so helpful when it came to working through a hangover? Finally, hours later, you had to check. The time without your phone- although you hated to admit it- was driving you crazy. You could only sit through so much without wanting to check it. And you were sure your best friend had to be worried you had choked on your own vomit at this point.

You responded to her texts first, with a simple 'I think I drunk called Justin.' You ignored her frantic texts and clicked on his first voicemail. "Hey." His voice sent shivers down your spine. There was something so homely about the way he sounded. Like hearing an old favorite song. "I think you drunk called me. My hand's fine, thanks for asking. Just a sprain, it'll be fine by the end of our by week. " Ever polite. When Justin first stepped into the spotlight, so many people questioned his personality and whether he would be fit to lead a team as their quarterback. He had never cared. He always dismissed it with a quiet wave. He was how he was, and you had loved him for it. The voicemail cut out there, and you played the next one. "Sorry," He began, because what else would he start out with? "I can't stop listening to what you sent me. I know you're drunk, but you said you haven't gotten over it- just in case you don't remember in the morning- and I haven't either. Just thought you should know." A click. You cringed. You truthfully didn't remember a moment of it. You understood now how the prohibition had happened. The last one. "Ok, I swear this is it." He laughed. The sound was like stepping under a warm ray of sun on a cold day. "I miss you. Text me when you wake up- I'm sorry for blowing up your phone. You said you were in LA? We should reconnect."

You put your phone face down and ran a hand over your face. Reconnect. With your ex-boyfriend. That you still weren't over. You texted your best friend. She responded with a bunch of messages that all had the same point; 'absolutely, you dumbass, you are still so in love with him and i'm sick of hearing about it.'

You swiped out of her messages and opened Justin's, which were full of concerned texts and him asking for you to text him when you got home to ensure you were safe. You bit your lip to try and control your smile. I'm free anytime this week. Coffee?

#adoristsposts #justin herbert #justin herbert fluff #justin herbert x reader #nfl #nfl fic #nfl fluff #la chargers #anon request #my pookie bear

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