A/N: The third and final part of this little mini-series. Same warnings apply. For more of my writing, check out my Masterlist here.
The championship game had always been circled on the calendar in red ink and hope.
Briar’s season had built toward this moment in slow, grueling increments—road wins, bruising practices, overtime scares that left everyone hoarse and shaking in the locker room. Now the arena pulsed like a living thing, packed shoulder to shoulder, banners hanging from the rafters like promises.
I should have felt the excitement, and I did. I just also felt a sense of dread, like everything with the stalker had been building to this.
I stand outside the locker room as the boys prepare to take the ice. Logan passed behind me, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze as he went onto the ice. Tucker followed. Then Dean. Then Garrett came out.
“Give ‘em hell, Graham,” I said my signature line, showing off the fact that I was sporting his jersey for the first time.
He pulled me in for a quick kiss, before turning towards the arena and skating away.
Above me, the crowd roared as the national anthem started. The sound rolled through concrete and steel, vibrating through my bones.
Garrett won the puck drop, and the game started in a wild frenzy. The teams were very evenly matched, but the chemistry between Dean, Tucker, Logan, and Garrett gave them a small edge. Logan scored early in the period, and within the same minute, Dean scored on a breakaway. The crowd went wild.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I honestly considered just ignoring it. But something in my gut made me check it.
Unknown sender: I’m here.
Bubbles appear as he types.
Unknown sender: I am watching you read these messages right now.
Something in me is done running from this. I’m done letting this person control anything about my life. So, for the first time, I text back.
Me: Now you can watch me power my phone off.
And I do, taking away his access and refocusing my attention on my boyfriend's last college game.
Garrett scores an impressive shot, and the fans erupt in celebration. My heart swells with pride as we briefly make eye contact. A minute later, the second period is over, and Briar is winning 3-2.
“You think turning your phone off will make me disappear?” A familiar voice says from behind me.
My breath catches.
“We should take a walk,” he whispers in my ear.
“Like hell, I make one sound, and the police will be all over you.”
“I wouldn’t risk that if I were you,” he shifted, and something hard nudged into my back.
“A walk, you said?”
“Good girl.”
“Why are you doing this, Remy?”
“Oh, she remembers my name.”
“Of course, I remember you. You were trying to come here through the transfer portal. You practiced with the team a few times, but ultimately, my Dad decided to add a backup goalie to the roster. That doesn’t explain why you're doing this.”
“By the time your dad decided he wasn’t interested, it was too late for me to find another team. I was supposed to play in the NHL, but that’s kinda hard when you aren’t playing on a D1 college team. He took everything from me, and why? Because I play the same position as his precious Garrett Graham. The overhyped nepo baby who never deserved anything he has been handed.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“At first, I was going to use you to make your dad give me a spot on the team. I watched you, learned your routine, planned to accidentally run into you…but then I saw you and Garrett sneaking around. Then it all made sense. Of course, your dad had to bend over backwards for Garrett if he was your boyfriend. Garrett had it all, the starting captain spot, the offers from the NHL, and the coach’s daughter.”
“So you’ve been stalking me to get back at my dad and Garrett?”
“Not just that,” Remy said softly, almost offended I’d simplified it.
The pressure against my back didn’t move, but his voice lowered like he was letting me in on something intimate.
“I was patient at first,” he continued. “I really was. I tried the normal way—tryouts, emails, transfer portal, talking to coaches like I mattered.”
A dry laugh slipped out of him.
“And then I realized something.”
My throat tightened. “What?”
“That people only listen when they’re afraid of losing something.”
The hallway lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the arena, the crowd roared again—oblivious, miles away in noise and celebration.
Remy shifted slightly behind me.
“You think this is about revenge,” he said. “It’s not.”
I fingers curled into your palms. “Then what is it about?”
A pause.
Then, closer to my ear:
“It’s about fairness.”
My stomach turned.
“That’s not—”
“Fair,” he repeated, sharper now. “Your dad decides who gets to have a future. Garrett gets everything handed to him. And I get told I’m not good enough and sent away like I don’t exist.”
The pressure of whatever he was holding pressed a little harder.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he added. “To be erased.”
My voice came out shaky but firm. “So you decided to erase me?”
Silence.
Then, almost gently:
“I didn’t erase you.”
A beat.
“I made you important.”
My breath caught.
Remy continued, voice steadier now, like he’d rehearsed this too many times in his head.
“At first, it was just your routine. Easy stuff. Coffee, classes, the rink.”
He gave a faint, almost nostalgic exhale.
“But you made it hard.”
“Because I existed?” I snapped.
“No,” he said, and there was something almost irritated in it now. “Because you stayed kind.”
That made me freeze.
“I kept waiting for you to be like everyone else,” he said. “Rude. Dismissive. Careless. But you weren’t.”
His tone sharpened.
“So I adjusted the plan.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. “By stalking me.”
“I was observing you,” he corrected.
“You’re insane.”
That word made him go quiet.
“No,” he said, “I’m finally in control.”
My stomach dropped.
His grip changed slightly—just enough to steer, not shove.
“Walk,” he said again.
I didn’t move.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Remy sighed like I was being difficult.
“You already are.”
“I let you take me out of the arena, away from Garrett, my dad, and my friends. I wanted to minimize the collateral damage of whatever it is that you are planning.”
The crowd erupted somewhere above us. The sound rattled through the concrete. The game was still happening. Garrett was still out there, completely unaware. The thought made my stomach twist.
Remy followed my gaze upward, like he knew exactly who I was thinking about.
“I didn’t want to do this here,” he admitted. “Not during his perfect little game.”
A pause.
My mind raced. “Because your dream of the NHL is gone, you are going to throw your life away? You’ll go to prison for this. You’re trading your life for what? To delve out your version of karma?”
Footsteps echoed closer.
"You still don't get it," he said quietly.
"No, I think I do."
My voice surprised even me. It was shaking, but it was steady enough.
"You built your entire identity around hockey. Around one outcome. And when it didn't happen, you needed someone to blame."
His jaw tightened.
"You think you know me?"
"I know enough."
The pressure against my back remained, but I wasn't looking at whatever he was holding anymore.
I was looking at him.
Really looking at him.
For months, he'd existed as a faceless threat. Anonymous messages. Hidden cameras. Burner phones. Shadows in crowds.
But standing here now?
He just looked like a man who had lost his way.
"You weren't cut because of Garrett. My dad doesn't care who you're dating. He doesn't care who you’re friends with. He cares about winning."
"Shut up."
"He chose the better player."
His entire face twisted.
"Shut up!"
The shout echoed down the corridor. Good. Let people hear. Let security find us.
"You know what's pathetic? You keep acting like Garrett stole something from you."
Remy's chest rose and fell faster.
"He didn't. You weren't entitled to a roster spot. You weren't entitled to the NHL."
His hand grabbed my arm hard enough to hurt.
"I said shut up."
But I didn't stop, because I saw it now. The thing he'd been trying so desperately to hide beneath all the anger. Fear.
"You know what really kills you? You know my dad was right. If you'd been good enough, another school would have taken you. One coach can’t destroy your future.”
"You don't know anything," he whispered.
A crack appeared in his voice.
The first real crack.
"You've spent months convincing yourself that Garrett ruined your life because it's easier than admitting your hockey career ended because you weren't good enough."
An announcement was made overhead that now that the game was over, all fans and players needed to evacuate through the main doors.
Footsteps echoed closer, Remy heard them too.
"You don't have to do this," I said carefully.
His laugh was hollow.
"Don't tell me what I have to do."
“Tell me, Remy, how do you want this to end?”
His expression shifted, something broken flashed across his face.
"Want?"
The word sounded almost foreign to him. The grip on my arm tightened further.
I winced.
He noticed, but didn't let go.
"I just wanted my life back."
His breathing was becoming uneven now.
The hallway suddenly felt too small. Too empty. Too far away from everyone who could help.
"Remy—"
"No."
He cut me off immediately.
"Garrett Graham stole my life. He has my spot. My captaincy. My NHL scouts. But not the coach's daughter."
The words hit harder than I expected because suddenly I understood. This was never just about hockey, months ago maybe, but now it was dangerously personal. And it was all crashing in on him at once as the police started to close in.
"You're jealous."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
For a second, Remy just stared at me. Then something in his expression changed.
Not anger.
Something worse.
Hurt.
The realization hit me like ice water.
"Oh my God."
His jaw tightened.
"I cared about you."
My stomach dropped.
No.
No, no, no.
Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run.
"You were the only person who was ever nice to me."
His voice shook now.
"You remembered my name."
I felt sick.
Months.
Months of messages.
Photos.
Watching.
Following.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it, he'd convinced himself there was something between us.
"Remy—"
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then—
"Y/N!"
My head snapped toward the sound.
Garrett.
Somewhere behind the officers.
Somewhere close.
Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly gave out.
Remy heard it too and everything changed. His face crumpled with panic. The fantasy was breaking apart. The reality of what he'd done was finally catching up to him.
The police. The handcuffs. The prison sentence. The end.
His breathing became ragged. Erratic. He was cornered.
"Remy," I said carefully.
He didn't hear me; his eyes never left Garrett.
"If I can't have my future..."
My blood ran cold.
"If he gets everything..."
"Listen to me."
"Then why does he get you too?"
The gun appeared so fast I barely saw him move.
One second, it was pressed against my back, hidden. The next, it was pressed against my temple.
The metal was cold. My entire body locked up.
For months I'd imagined a hundred different endings to this nightmare.
None of them looked like this.
"DROP THE WEAPON!"
The hallway erupted. Officers drew their guns.
Someone shouted my name. My dad? Garrett? I couldn't tell who. Everything started to blur together. I was trying to remember how to breath. How to focus on anything other than the trembling gun against my head.
Remy was crying, breaking. That should have terrified me more than the weapon because it meant he wasn't thinking anymore. But I couldn’t process that. I was going to die. This was it. This was how this whole nightmare situation was going to end. No apartment in Boston. No future with Garrett. I would never----
Garrett's voice ripped through the hallway, closer now. If I could have lifted my gaze I could hve seen him.
"Y/N!"
Remy's attention snapped to Garrett, just for a second.
A single second.
But it was enough.
I drove my elbow backward as hard as I could and lunged forward.
The gun skidded across the concrete. Officers surged forward. Bodies collided.
Garrett reached me before the officers had even finished wrestling Remy to the floor.
His hands were everywhere.
My face.
My shoulders.
My hair.
Like he needed proof that I was actually standing in front of him.
"Are you hurt?"
I shook my head.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Are you sure?”
His voice broke. His entire body was trembling.
"You scared the hell out of me."
My legs gave out, adrenaline fading as the weight of what almost happened consumed me.
"Hey, I've got you. You're okay."
I wasn't sure if he was talking to me, or trying to convince himself.
"Look at me."
His hands cupped my face.
"Baby, look at me."
I did.
"You're okay," he whispered.
The words sounded like a prayer, like he was saying them for himself as much as for me.
Behind us, officers dragged Remy away.
I didn't look.
I didn't care.
Because Garrett was here.
His arms were around me.
His heartbeat was hammering beneath my cheek.
And for the first time in months, the fear was gone.
pairing – garrett graham x petal!reader
summary – after months of small humiliations, one party becomes the final straw, and garrett learns too late that being sorry after the damage isn’t enough.
warnings – angst, breakup, argument, jealousy, public humiliation, relationship insecurity, crying, swearing, emotional hurt, no happy ending.
notes from me – uhhhhhh, you guys asked for it!! but based on this ask, thank you bby!! i was stuck on ideas for their break up until you sent this through!!
word count – 3.7k
navigation – masterlist |
The door had shut behind her with a hard, cheap little clap, cutting off the full ugly body of it all, the music and the shouting and the sound of someone in the kitchen yelling for Dean like Dean had ever once improved a situation by arriving. But pieces of it kept slipping through anyway.
Bass through the walls. Laughter when the door opened again somewhere behind her. The sticky-sweet smell of beer and perfume and winter-damp wool clinging to her coat like the house had put hands on her and refused to let go.
Her boots hit the pavement too hard. Every step sent a thin jolt up through her knees, but she couldn’t make herself slow down because if she slowed down, Garrett would catch up properly, and if Garrett caught up properly, he would talk. He always wanted to talk after the thing had already happened.
After she had already stood there with her cup going warm in her hand while three girls boxed him into the corner by the kitchen and laughed up at him like he had invented oxygen and jawlines and playoff hockey.
After one of them touched his arm and he didn’t step back. After another one said, “You’re so bad,” in that breathy, delighted voice girls used when bad meant attractive and accessible and maybe mine if I keep smiling right. After he had looked over once, seen her looking, and still stayed.
That was the part her body couldn’t get around. The seeing. The quick flicker of his eyes across the room, the half-second of recognition, the tiny change in his face like he knew, he knew exactly what it looked like, and then the way he’d smiled back down at the blonde in front of him anyway because Garrett Graham had never met attention he didn’t know how to catch one-handed.
“Baby.”
His voice came from behind her, breathless enough that he had jogged the last few steps. Good. Great. Fantastic. He could chase her now. He could find his legs now that the whole party wasn’t watching him be wanted.
She walked faster.
“Baby, come on.” Garrett’s sneakers scraped lightly over the pavement as he caught up beside her, his shadow cutting across the wet shine of the sidewalk under the streetlamp. “Can you just stop for a second?”
“No.”
“Okay, then can you slow down before you eat shit? You’re in heeled boots.”
She let out a laugh so sharp it barely sounded like one. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“Nothing. That’s just–” She shook her head, eyes burning already, which made her angrier because she hadn’t even got to the yelling properly and her body had started betraying her like some kind of amateur. “That’s so you.”
Garrett moved into her path just enough to make her have to angle around him. Big and warm and breathing a little harder than normal, curls messy from the party heat, the collar of his jacket sitting crooked like one of those girls had maybe caught it when she leaned in to say something stupid into his ear. “What does that mean?”
“It means move.”
“Not until you talk to me.”
She stopped so abruptly he almost walked into her. For one second they stood under the streetlamp outside the row of dorm buildings, campus stretched cold and quiet around them, the party pulsing behind them like another life.
The air bit at her cheeks. Her hands were shaking, so she shoved them into her coat pockets and curled them there until her nails pressed little crescents into her palms.
Garrett’s face softened the second he saw her properly. He always looked sorry once the damage had a visible shape. “Hey,” he said, lower now. “Baby–”
“You’re such a piece of shit.”
His mouth closed. The words came out flat and ugly, too quick to stop, and for half a second even she seemed to hear them from outside herself. Not because they weren’t true in the hot, vicious courtroom currently operating under her ribs, but because they were not the sort of thing she usually said to him first.
She usually worked up to it. Usually gave him three warning shots and a sarcastic little exit route and enough room to pretend they were having an argument instead of watching one person bleed out slowly from the same cut.
Garrett blinked once. “Me?”
She laughed again, and this time the wetness in it made her want to claw her own throat open. “You’re such a fucking piece of shit.”
“Okay.” His jaw tightened, but he nodded, both hands lifting slightly like he was trying to calm a dog that had bitten him before and might do it again. “Okay. Let’s talk about why I’m a piece of shit.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“No, seriously. Let’s talk about it.” His voice had gone careful in that way that made her feel more insane, like he was standing there with a clipboard while she came apart on the pavement. “This is what I’ve been trying to do. I’ve been trying to talk to you about this all night.”
“All night?” Her head snapped back like the sentence had shoved her. “Garrett, you were not trying to talk to me all night. You were trying to flirt your way through three girls and then act shocked when I didn’t clap for you.”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
She stared at him.
“I wasn’t,” he said again, faster now, one hand dragging over the back of his neck. The old move. The Garrett Graham damage control special. “Jesus, they came up to me. What was I supposed to do, tell them to fuck off?”
“No, apparently that’s reserved for me.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You didn’t have to say it.” Her voice climbed, then cracked, and she hated the crack so much she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste metal. “You do this thing where you make me feel like I’m ruining your night by existing.”
Garrett looked genuinely thrown for a second. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. It’s not.” The defensive edge came in then, quick and familiar, the one that always arrived right after his guilt and right before her humiliation got turned into a debate topic. “I’m allowed to talk to people.”
“Holy fuck,” she said, quietly enough that it came out worse.
“What?”
“You’re fucked.”
“How am I fucked?” His hands spread, and there was a flash of frustration under the apology, the part of him that couldn't understand why wanting her and disrespecting her were not mutually exclusive in her body. “Talk to me. I’m right here. Tell me.”
“No.”
“Baby.”
“No.” She pointed back toward the house, eyes hot and too full now, the streetlamp turning everything soft-edged and horrible. “You know what? Actually, go ahead. Say your piece. Say your Garrett Graham bullshit. Please. Tell me what shit you’re gonna come up with this time.”
He watched her for a second, mouth pressed tight, breath coming out white in the cold. A car rolled past at the end of the street, slow enough that its headlights moved over them like a searchlight, catching the shine on her cheeks before she could turn away.
“Nah,” Garrett said finally. “I want to hear you out first.”
Her laugh was immediate and mean. “Of course you do.”
“I’m serious.”
“No, you want me to say it first so you can pick it apart.”
His brows drew together. “I’m not trying to pick anything apart.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m trying to understand what happened in there.”
“I’ve been telling you what happened.” Her voice broke properly this time, anger ripping through the words before she could sand them down. “For months. For fucking months, Garrett.”
His expression shifted. “No, you’ve been getting upset and then shutting down.”
“Because you make me feel stupid when I talk.”
“I don’t mean to.”
“But you do.” She stepped closer without meaning to, the space between them shrinking until she had to tilt her face up to keep looking at him. “You do, and then you stand there like because you didn’t mean to, I’m supposed to take that home and sleep next to it.”
Garrett swallowed. His hands dropped to his sides. “Okay. Then tell me properly now.”
Something in her face twisted. “Properly?”
“I get you’re frustrated–”
“Frustrated?” The word came out almost silent. Then she laughed, one hand flying up like she could physically bat it away from her. “Oh my god.”
“I’m trying to talk to you.”
“No, you’re trying to make me calm enough that you don’t have to feel like the bad guy.”
“That’s not–”
“You’re not respectful in the slightest,” she said, and the tears started then for real, hot and fast and humiliating, slipping down before she could do anything useful with her face. “Have some fucking respect for your fucking girlfriend!”
Garrett went still.
She made a frustrated sound, almost a groan, pressing the heel of her hand to one eye for half a second before dropping it again because crying into her own palm on a sidewalk was not the kind of tragic she respected. “What the fuck.”
Then she turned and started walking again.
“Hey, stop.” Garrett caught up in two strides, and his hand came to her waist. Warm fingers through her coat, a gentle pull meant to turn her back to him, and her whole body rejected it before her mind caught up.
She shoved him away with both hands. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Garrett’s face changed so quickly it almost made something in her collapse. His hands lifted, empty. “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t.”
“I don’t want to fucking talk to you.”
“I feel like shit,” he said, voice rougher now. “Please talk to me.”
The words should have softened her. Maybe some version of her, one who hadn’t spent the last month measuring how long it took him to remember she was standing beside him in rooms full of girls who wanted him, would have stepped into that roughness and let it mean enough.
But tonight her chest was too packed with old little injuries, all of them awake at once, crowding under her ribs until she could barely breathe around them.
“You weren’t feeling bad fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “Surrounded by girls. You weren’t feeling bad yesterday when we got stopped every three seconds and I stood there like an idiot while people talked through me to get to you. You weren’t feeling bad when you dropped my hand in that coffee shop, or when you missed the first half of my showcase because practice ran over and apparently I was supposed to be grateful you made it before bows.” Her breath hitched. She hated that one. Hated that it came out. “There was no consideration for me. There wasn’t. Or you wouldn’t have acted the way you fucking acted.”
“Whoa. Hey.” Garrett stepped closer, then seemed to remember and stopped himself. The restraint looked painful on him. “First of all, I always consider you. Always. I can’t help that people want to talk to me–”
She started laughing before he finished. Her body had found one last emergency exit before sobbing, and it was laughing in Garrett Graham’s face under a dorm streetlight with mascara starting to move at the corners of her eyes. “Holy fuck.”
His mouth tightened. “What?”
“How bad did you really feel if this is your version of a fucking apology?”
“I’m trying to explain.”
“You’re explaining why it’s not your fault.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing.” She wiped under one eye with the side of her finger, furious when it came away damp and black-smudged. “You stand there in the corner with three puck bunnies flirting with you like, what? You’re rubbing that shit in my face?”
“No. No, no, no.” His face opened with alarm, real now, not defensive for one precious second. “Baby, that’s not– no. I wasn’t flirting with them. It’s not like that.”
“If you felt bad, you wouldn’t have continued to do it,” she said. “But you did. And you have. Over and over. So, cool. You want them, go get them. They’d be more than happy.”
“I don’t want them.” Garrett’s voice cracked around the denial, and the sound did something terrible to her stomach. “That’s not what this is. I get it, okay? I fucked up. I get that. But I’m human.”
The air went very thin for a second. She stared at him, tears cooling on her cheeks, the whole night narrowing down to his face and those two words sitting there between them like an insult wearing a reasonable coat.
“No,” she said.
Garrett’s brows pulled in. “What?”
“No. I don’t buy that shit.” She shook her head, slow at first, then harder, because if she stopped moving she might actually feel how much of her was splitting open. “I’m human too, Garrett. I’m human, and I’m not letting three different guys get me drinks and hang off me all night because I know how that would make you feel. I know. I don’t need a fucking thesis. I don’t need a seminar on empathy. I just think about you before I do things.”
He flinched.
Good, some ugly little part of her thought, and then immediately felt sick from the taste of it.
“You do not have the same respect for me that I have for you,” she said, quieter, which made it worse. “So I don’t want to hear that I’m human shit. I don’t give a fuck. I don’t feel sorry for you.”
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.” Garrett stepped one half-step closer, stopped again, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. His eyes were bright now, not with tears exactly, but with panic pushing hard against the back of them. “Baby, I don’t. I just want you to hear me out. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I did that to you.”
She shook her head, and the movement sent more tears down. She could feel them hitting the cold air and tightening on her skin. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’re not fucking sorry.”
“I am.”
“You feel no guilt about any of this.”
“Yes, I do.” His voice rose, desperate now, and for the first time all night Garrett looked younger than himself. A boy in the street with his jacket open against the cold, trying to hold water in his hands after the glass had already shattered. “I do. You can go ask any of the boys. Go ask Logan or Dean or Tuck. I swear.”
Her face crumpled before she could stop it, but the laugh still came out. Small, disbelieving, wrecked. “Oh, the same boys that keep telling me I’m the love of your life? Huh? Those ones?”
Garrett’s mouth parted.
“Those boys?”
“You are,” he said, and then stopped like he’d stepped too close to a ledge he hadn’t realised was there. His throat worked. “I–”
The cold moved between them. The party door opened in the distance, letting out a bright slash of noise and some girl’s laughter, then shut again. She watched Garrett stand there with the sentence stuck in his mouth, and there should have been some triumph in it, maybe. Some relief. The love of your life. The thing girls were supposed to want to hear. The thing that should have fixed something.
It didn’t. It only made the hurt widen, because what was she supposed to do with that? Let the love of his life get humiliated in coffee shops? Let the love of his life stand beside him at parties while he forgot how to be careful? Let the love of his life go home every night with a stomach full of little explanations she had to feed herself so she wouldn’t seem needy?
She shrugged, and the movement felt loose and awful on her body. “So be it.”
Garrett stared at her.
“So be it, Garrett.” Her voice dropped into something almost calm, except the tears wouldn’t stop, so the calm looked deranged even to her. “Be the love of my life.”
His face changed. The panic went quiet for one second, like she had hit somewhere deeper than anger could reach. “I’m trying.”
She looked at him, really looked, at the red at the tips of his ears from the cold, the crease between his brows, the mouth she had kissed against lockers and in his bed and outside this dorm with her hands in his hoodie.
He was trying. That was maybe the worst part. He had been trying in the way Garrett knew how. Apologising after. Ordering the coffee right. Kissing the top of her head. Pulling her back in with warmth every time she got close to the edge. But he kept letting the edge exist.
“I’m done,” she said.
Garrett shook his head immediately. “No.”
She turned away from him, because if she kept looking at his face she was going to start bargaining against herself. “I am.”
“No, hey.” He followed her. “You’re not even letting me talk.”
“I let you talk for months.”
“You’re not letting me talk now.”
“No, I’m done.” She spun back so fast her coat swung open, cold hitting her through the thin party top underneath. “I’m done. I’m good. I’m not doing this stupid back and forth with you where I tell you something hurt me and then you explain your intentions like I’m dating your intentions. I’m not. I’m dating you. And you acted the way you acted, and you won’t change that shit, so we’re done.”
“Baby–”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
“It is.” She nodded too many times, tears still spilling, breath starting to shake now in a way she could not control. “It’s fine. I get it now.”
“No, you don’t.” Garrett’s voice went rough, almost angry with fear. “You’re hurt and you’re pissed off and you’re deciding something huge because of one night.”
“One night?” she whispered.
He realised it the second it left his mouth. She saw it. The tiny collapse around his eyes. “No,” he said quickly. “I know it’s not one night. I know that. I didn’t mean–”
“You never do.”
Garrett flinched again, and this time it didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like anything except more damage in a street already full of it.
“I’m trying to fix this,” he said. “Let me fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Don’t.”
“It is.” He took a step closer, and then stopped himself again, because she had told him not to touch her and he was finally, finally listening when it no longer had anywhere useful to land. “It’s bullshit. You don’t get to just– baby, come on. You don’t get to decide this alone.”
For a second she almost smiled, because it was so perfectly him. So wildly, painfully Garrett. Still arguing with the scoreboard after the game had ended. Still believing there had to be a third period if he wanted one badly enough.
“I just did,” she said.
His face went blank. The dorm entrance buzzed faintly behind her, ugly fluorescent light spilling over the steps. Her fingers had gone numb in her pockets, and her face felt swollen from crying, and somewhere inside the building there were people doing laundry or microwaving noodles or living tiny, ordinary lives not currently ending under a streetlamp.
She wanted that so badly it almost made her dizzy. A room. A door. A place to put her body down without Garrett looking at her like she was taking his apart.
“Go back to your puck bunnies, Garrett,” she said, and the bitterness came out exhausted now, all the teeth worn down. “I’m done. I’m so fucking done.”
She turned before he could answer. He said her name once, not baby this time, and that almost did it. That almost made her stop. Her actual name in Garrett’s voice, cracked at the edge, chasing her up the first step like a hand she had told him not to use.
She kept walking.
The key card shook when she pulled it from her pocket. She missed the scanner once, plastic tapping uselessly against the panel, and behind her Garrett made a small sound like he was physically stopping himself from coming closer. She swiped again. The lock clicked.
“Please,” he said.
She opened the door. Warm stale dorm air hit her face, carrying the smell of old carpet, microwave popcorn, and somebody’s overworked vanilla plug-in. She stepped inside and turned just enough to see him through the wired glass before the door shut between them.
Garrett stood on the sidewalk with both hands in his hair now, elbows out, jacket open, mouth parted around words he had nowhere to put. For one awful second he looked completely lost. Alone under the streetlamp, staring at the door like he could still make it open if he found the right thing to say.
Then the door closed. The sound was small. Pathetic, almost. A dull latch catching in an institutional frame.
She made it halfway up the stairs before her legs stopped working properly. One hand caught the railing, cold metal biting into her palm, and the first sob tore out of her so hard she bent over it, forehead nearly touching the sleeve of her coat.
A brutal little failure of breath, her ribs pulling too tight around nothing, her mouth open while the stairwell blurred in ugly blocks of cream paint and grey steps and the dark smudge of mascara on her fingers.
She pressed both hands over her face, trying to hold herself together with pressure, but there was too much of it. Garrett’s face. The girls’ laughter. His hand letting go in the coffee shop. His voice saying I’m human like she hadn’t spent months being human quietly beside him. Be the love of my life. I’m trying.
The words kept moving around inside her, useless and sharp, knocking against every place she had already bruised trying to love him without asking to be chosen out loud.
Downstairs, through the thick dorm door and the stairwell concrete and the blood in her ears, she thought she heard him say her name again. Or maybe she wanted to. Either way, she climbed the rest of the stairs alone.
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pairing – garrett graham x reader
summary – after an embarrassing moment in class, garrett offers comfort, food, and academic vengeance in equal measure.
warnings – embarrassment, crying, social anxiety-ish feelings, classroom setting, hurt/comfort, strong language
notes from me – based on this request!! so so cute, thank u babe!
word count – 1.2k
navigation – masterlist |
When Garrett finds her, she’s been sitting in the middle of his bed long enough for the sleeves of his hoodie to swallow both her hands and for the room to go that weird, grey-blue colour it gets before dinner, when the light’s still coming through the window but not strongly enough to make anything feel real.
His sheets are wrinkled around her thighs. Her backpack is on the floor where she’d dropped it. She’s staring very hard at a loose thread near the hem of the hoodie, twisting it between her fingers until it starts to curl.
Garrett pauses in the doorway for half a second, and because he knows her in all the ways that make her feel terrifyingly seen and also, annoyingly, safe, his face changes before she even says anything. The easy line of his mouth flattening, his brows drawing together, his hand tightening around the doorframe like he’s already looking for the thing that hurt her so he can go have a very calm, very unreasonable conversation with it.
“Hey,” he says, softer than the room probably deserves.
She tries to answer. It comes out as this tiny, ruined little noise instead, barely more than air, and that’s all it takes for Garrett to cross the room.
He sits opposite her on the bed, one knee bent, the mattress dipping under him. He doesn’t grab at her, doesn’t crowd her straight away, just puts his hand palm-up between them like an offer, and her mouth does something stupid and wobbly before she slides her fingers into his.
“Baby,” he murmurs, and it’s unfair, actually, how gentle he can make one word sound. “What happened?”
She shakes her head first, because the second she says it out loud, it’s going to become a real thing instead of a horrible little replay stuck on a loop in her brain. The lecture theatre. The rows of faces turning. Her lecturer saying her name in that clipped, mildly impatient voice. Her own answer coming out wrong. Wrong in the kind of way that made the silence stretch too long after, made someone three rows behind her breathe out a laugh they tried to hide as a cough. The heat that climbed up her neck so fast she thought she might actually combust in front of Introductory Whatever-the-Fuck.
Garrett waits. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles, slow and steady.
“I got called on,” she manages, staring at their hands. “And I didn’t know the answer. Well, I kind of did, but then everyone was looking and I forgot how English works. Or thoughts. Thoughts were gone too, actually. Very cool of my brain.”
His expression flickers, not amused, because he’s smarter than that, but soft around the edges. “Yeah?”
She nods, swallowing hard, and the tears slip over before she can bully them back into place. “And then he corrected me in front of everyone. Like, not mean mean, but he said it in that tone. You know that tone? The ‘please stop wasting my time, tiny idiot’ tone.”
Garrett’s jaw shifts.
“And I know it’s not a big deal,” she adds quickly, because that’s the part she hates most, the part where her brain can understand the scale of it and her chest still feels like it’s been packed too tight. “Like, no one cares. Everyone probably forgot already. I know that. I’m aware. Rationally. As a person with a mostly functioning frontal lobe.”
“Mostly,” Garrett says, very quietly.
She lets out a wet, unwilling laugh, which immediately makes her cry harder.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, and reaches for her then, both hands careful on her face. His thumbs brush under her eyes, catching tears before they can get to her chin. “I’m really sorry that happened.”
She sniffs, miserable and small and furious at herself for being both. “S’okay. Just embarrassing.”
“Yeah,” he says, like he’s not going to argue her out of it, like he knows better than to tell her she shouldn’t feel the thing she’s already feeling. “That sounds fucking embarrassing.”
Her eyes lift to his, startled, and he gives her this tiny, sympathetic half-smile.
“What? It does. Getting put on the spot sucks. I’d rather take a puck to the ribs than have some guy with a PowerPoint make me talk in front of a hundred people.”
That gets another laugh out of her, shaky and gross and not at all elegant, but Garrett looks at her like she’s done something impressive anyway. He tucks her hair back behind her ear, fingers lingering there, warm against her skin.
“I just felt stupid,” she admits.
His face gentles all over again. “You’re not stupid.”
“I felt stupid.”
“I know.” He leans forward and kisses the spot beside her eyebrow, not quite her forehead, not quite her temple. “But you’re not.”
She closes her eyes because looking at him while he’s this soft feels too much like standing in sunlight after being inside all day. His hands slide down to her wrists, then back up, grounding little passes, and she hates that it works. Hates that her breathing starts to loosen. Hates that Garrett Graham, of all people, six-foot-whatever of hockey captain confidence and stupidly pretty mouth, somehow knows how to be quiet with her.
“I should’ve just said I didn’t know,” she mutters.
“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe your lecturer could’ve been less of a dick about it.”
“He wasn’t a dick.”
Garrett’s eyebrows lift.
“He was… dick-adjacent,” she allows.
“There we go.” He nods, satisfied. “Academic dick-adjacent behaviour.”
She presses her sleeve under her nose and glares weakly at him. “You’re so annoying.”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling now, but only a little. “Still your boyfriend, though. Legally required to sit here and call your lecturer names until you stop crying.”
“That’s not legal.”
“It is in Massachusetts. Weird state.”
She laughs properly this time, and Garrett’s whole face changes, like he’s been waiting for that sound to come back into the room.
He shifts closer, tugging gently at her hands until she lets herself fold into him, knees bumping his thigh, forehead dropping against his shoulder. He smells like clean laundry and cold air and whatever soap he uses after practice, and his palm settles against the back of her head, holding her there without making it feel like he’s holding her down.
“I hate being perceived,” she mumbles into his shirt.
“I know.” His cheek rests against her hair. “Bad day for my girl with the unfortunately visible face.”
She pinches his side, barely hard enough to count, and feels his laugh move through his chest.
For a while, he doesn’t say anything else. He just keeps his hand in her hair, fingers moving slowly, and lets the room go dark around them. No fixing. No bright, shiny lesson. No you’ll laugh about it someday, even if maybe she will. Only Garrett, warm and solid beneath her, pressing another kiss to the top of her head like he can put her back together one careful piece at a time.
And when she sniffles again, smaller this time, less like breaking and more like coming down from it, he murmurs, “You want food, a nap, or for me to fail that class in solidarity?”
Her mouth curves against his shirt.
“Food,” she whispers.
“Good choice,” he says, squeezing her once. “I was gonna struggle with the class thing.”
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pairing – garrett graham x petal!reader
summary – what starts as academic suffering becomes a back-row flirtation when garrett graham gets to class late late.
warnings – professor embarrassment, flirting, swearing.
notes from me – as requested my babes!! love this lil meet cute 🥹
word count – 0.9k
navigation – masterlist |
She had picked the seat in the very back because suffering felt more dignified from a distance. The class had been a mistake. A spectacular, academically sanctioned mistake.
She’d chosen it as an elective three weeks ago with the loose, optimistic confidence of a girl who had seen the words cultural theory and performance on the course list and decided, sure, sounds adjacent enough to theatre to count as enrichment.
Now she was sitting under fluorescent lights in the back row of a lecture hall while Professor Martin clicked through a slideshow that had, somehow, mentioned both post-industrial labour and narrative collapse in the same sentence, and she was beginning to suspect enrichment was a scam.
Her notebook had one full page of notes. Unfortunately, most of it read: what the fuck does this mean?
The door near the top of the lecture hall opened twenty minutes late with a soft, guilty scrape, and every head in the room turned with the specific hunger of students desperate for anything to happen.
A guy slipped in, tall and broad-shouldered in a Briar hockey hoodie, dark curls, backpack hanging off one shoulder and an iced coffee balanced in one hand. Garrett Graham, obviously.
She knew the name because everyone at Briar knew the name, usually said with some combination of awe, thirst, and deeply annoying familiarity. He scanned the back row, found the empty seat beside her, and leaned in just enough for his voice to stay under the professor’s. “This taken?”
She shook her head, trying very hard not to look like she’d noticed his forearms. “Go for it.”
He slid into the seat with the quietest possible amount of athletic grace, which was still not quiet enough.
Professor Martin stopped mid-slide. “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Graham.”
Garrett froze with one hand still on his backpack zipper. “Oh– uh, yeah. Sorry. Hockey practice ran over.”
Professor Martin looked at the iced coffee in his hand, then tilted her head at him. “Oh. Hockey practice. Do they give you iced coffees on the way out now? That’s new.”
His eyes flicked to her. For half a second, panic. Then something brighter, amused and wicked. He set the coffee onto the tiny desk attached to her chair like he had been wronged by circumstance. “It was for my girl. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
Her lips pressed together so hard her mouth almost disappeared. Across the room, someone made a strangled noise.
She nodded gravely, sliding one hand around the cup. “Totally my bad. I begged for one. Sorry, Professor.”
Professor Martin stared at both of them with the exhausted stillness of a woman who had taught athletes before and expected better from theatre majors. “Be on time to my class, Mr. Graham.”
Garrett nodded with a sincerity so polished it was basically fraudulent. “Yes, ma’am.”
The lecture resumed. The slide changed to one with even more words on it, which felt aggressive. Beside her, Garrett exhaled slowly, then pushed the iced coffee further toward her with two fingers.
“For your trouble,” he whispered.
She glanced at the cup, then at him. “That’s okay. It’s yours.”
“Yeah, but I just accused you of sending me on a beverage run in front of the whole class.”
“You did.”
“So.” He nudged it another inch toward her, mouth curving. “Hazard pay.”
She pressed her lips together, trying very hard not to smile. “I’m not taking your coffee.”
“It’s not mine anymore.”
“It has your name on it.”
Garrett looked down at the sticker, then back at her with a perfectly straight face. “That’s so they knew who to give it to before I delivered it to my girl.”
A laugh got out of her before she could stop it. Tiny. Horribly timed. Professor Martin paused for half a second at the front of the room, and she immediately dropped her gaze to her notebook like the blank page had become urgent.
Garrett’s shoulder shook once beside her. “Good acting,” he murmured.
“Shut up.”
“I mean it. Very committed.”
“I'm a theatre major, I’m always committed.”
His grin turned interested in a way that made the fluorescent-lit back row feel suddenly too small. “Yeah?”
Then his eyes dropped to her notebook, where she had written what the fuck? in the margin and underlined it twice.
“So,” he whispered. “You got any idea what’s going on in this class?”
She looked down at the page, then back at him. “Nope. I’m probably dropping it.”
Garrett sucked at his teeth. “Shit. I was hoping you could help me.”
“Sorry.”
“Well,” he said, settling back like academic disaster had simply opened a networking opportunity, “if you decide not to drop out, you should give me your number. We could study together.”
She tilted her head. “Study?”
“Mr. Graham,” Professor Martin said from the front, without turning around. “Am I interrupting your date back there?”
Heat shot straight up her neck. Garrett sat back so fast his knee hit the underside of the tiny desk.
“No, Professor,” he said, clearing his throat. “Very sorry. We’re listening. I swear.”
She nodded quickly, eyes fixed on her notebook. “Sorry.”
For almost a full minute, they were quiet. Or quiet enough. The professor kept talking. Someone coughed near the front. Garrett’s iced coffee sat between them, sweating a small ring onto the desk, and eventually he slid it toward her again without looking over.
She glanced down. Beside her, Garrett stared straight ahead, pen balanced uselessly between his fingers, the corner of his mouth barely moving. “You should drink some before you drop the class.”
Her mouth twitched. “Is that your academic advice?”
“It’s my apology.”
“You apologise with coffee often?”
“Usually works.”
She shook her head, still looking at the front of the room, but she took the cup anyway.
Garrett’s smile showed up slowly, pleased and quiet and deeply annoying. “See? We’re already learning.”
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Summary: After the start time for Tuck’s game is moved, YN finds herself racing against time to get from the office to the rink.
Pairing: John Tucker x Paralegal!Reader
Warnings: road rage, some minor self doubt, tuck being in loooove, reader has anxiety and physical anxiety symptoms and takes anti-depressants!
The desk phone stared her out of her focus. As she jumped in her chair, one air pod fell out of her ear, the tinny sounds of Sublime travelling across her desk.
“Maggie!” She whined, picking up the receiver. “No more calls. Why does everybody want to talk to me today?”
Out at reception, Maggie snickered, looking at YN’s call log for the day, including all the messages she had taken for Wayne.
“She says her name is Allie Hayes-“
“She’s my cousin,” YN sighed. “Put her through.”
There was a brief period of holding music, something bland, inoffensive and definitely not copyrighted. Next to her monitor, there was a framed picture of her and Allie at her college graduation. She wore a short black and white dress, proudly showing off her diploma.
Life had seemed so full of possibility when she walked across that stage.
“Why aren’t you on the road yet?” Allie’s voice boomed.
“What do you mean? It’s only 4:45. I’ve got loads of time until the game starts. And why are you calling me in my work line? You know how much shit I’ll get into if Wayne catches me?”
“Did Tucker not tell you?”
YN felt her heart stopped, lowering her voice and spinning her desk chair around so she faced the wall and not the glassed in portion of her cubicle.
“Tell me what? Allie-“
“That start time got moved up! The game starts at 5:45 now.”
“Shit. With the traffic it will take me at least 45 minutes to get there. I’m not gonna make it. Tuck’s gonna hate me.”
Allie sighed. “I’m sorry, cuz. Hannah and I will save you a seat and you just get here when you can, okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice sounded broken and deflated. “I’ll see you guys in a bit.”
She was sick of being the friend who showed up late, still in her work clothes, and then had to leave early. She wondered how long it would be before people assumed the worst and just flat out stopped inviting her places.
The next fifteen minutes seemed to drag. She was distracted, no longer able to focus on anything.
At 4:58, she thought she was out of the woods. Until the phone rang.
“Maggie!” She cried. “I need to go, Tucker has a game tonight and I promised him I’d be there.”
Maggie sighed. “I know but this guy has called twice for Wayne today. I really hate to do this to you.”
“Why is he calling at five o’clock?” She groaned, trying to figure out if going to the game was really worth facing Wayne’s wrath.
As she was contemplating her life decisions, she felt someone yank the plastic phone receiver out of her hand.
“Patch that one through to me, Maggie.” Irene said, standing behind YN’s desk chair. She looked over at YN. “Your boyfriend is John Tucker on the Hawks, right?”
Speechless, she nodded at Irene.
“My son is a big Garrett Graham fan. Get home something signed and we can deal with Wayne on Monday.”
She beamed, grabbing her tote bag from under the desk. “Irene, you’re a bloody lifesaver.”
She took off through the lobby, anxiously jamming her finger on the elevator button. Maggie laughed at her from behind the desk as the receptionist turned the radio off and powered down the phone.
“You do know that’s not going to make the elevator come any faster, right?”
Throwing her hands up in defeat, she ran towards the stairwell doors, almost running one of her other coworkers over. As she was rushing down the first flight of stairs, her phone rang. She swiped to answer, waiting for the call to connect to her air pods.
“Hey, Tuck!” She breathed, practically flying down the stairs.
“Why do you sound like you’re out of breath?”
“Because I just ran down five flights of stairs because the elevator at work was taking too long. Why didn’t you tell me the game time changed?”
“You have a great job, YN. An important one. I didn’t want you to get in trouble with your boss because of me. I also didn’t want you to panic and have another pesudo-heart attack on your way here.”
She jumped off the last step, aggressively yanking her access pass for the parking garage out of her purse.
“But I would have missed like half the game!” She protested. “It’s important to you, which makes it important to me.”
The day of her almost-heart attack was ingrained in Tucker’s mind for good. He wasn’t on her emergency contact form at work, so it had been Allie that had called him, after hearing from YN’s parents. Her panic attack had been so bad that her lungs seized and she exhibited all the classic symptoms of a heart attack. He hadn’t expected a hospital waiting room to be the place where he first met his girlfriend’s parents, but alas, beggars can’t be choosers. She’s was given a clean bill of health, a bottle of anti-depressants and a week of paid stress leave that used up all of her sick days. Not to mention that it had scared the shit out of Tucker.
She tapped the access card against the scanner, barely waiting for the light to turn green before wrenching the door open and running into the garage.
“And your health and well-being is important to me! It certainly matters more than-“
The rest of his sentence was cut off by the horn of a Honda Odyssey that slammed to a stop next to YN, who had blindly run into the middle of the road.
“Sorry!” She shouted, sprinting to the other side.
“Did you almost get hit by a car?” Tucker shouted “Please tell me you did not almost get hit by a car!”
“Tuck, honey, I’m fine.” She panted, taking the stairs two at a time up to the half level where her car was parked. “I’m almost at my car, I’ll be there soon. Before the puck drops! I love you.”
“I love you too. Drive safe!”
She hung up, shoving her belongings in the trunk. Making sure that nobody was around, she stripped out of her cardigan and work top, pulling a Briar Hawks sweater over her camisole. She grabbed a smaller crossbody bag and moved her wallet, keys and phone over from her tote bag before slamming the trunk closed and sliding into the drivers seat.
Saying that traffic was so slow that it basically crawled was an understatement. Rush hour traffic combined with construction made her chest constrict with anxiety as she watched her arrival time get later and later in her GPS.
“Son of a bitch.” She cursed, resting her head back against the seat as she tried to run through one of the breathing exercises the doctor in the ER had taught her after her panic episode. “He couldn’t have had a game at 1:00 on a Saturday?”
When she was finally able to pull off onto a less crowded side street, and actually drive at the speed limit, she felt some of the pressure in her chest subside. The car was still too hot, and she found herself reaching for the dial that controlled her sunroof. It has just gone 5:45, and her arrival time had changed to 5:52.
She was going to miss puck drop.
When she was five minutes from the arena, everything slowed. One entire lane was closed for construction, and a worker in a fluorescent vest was standing ahead of the first car in the line, holding a large red stop sign.
“Shit! Fuck!” She cried, hitting the steering wheel.
It felt like forever until the STOP turned to SLOW and things began to move again, she tore into the arena parking lot quicker than necessary, scanning the ticket on her phone in front of the boom bar.
The lot was packed, and her eyes darted around frantically to find an empty parking space. Her heart stopped pounding when she saw Tucker’s Nissan Frontier with the little Soundgarden sticker on the back bumper to cover up a small dent.
She reversed into the first parking space that she saw, cursing herself for buying such a long sedan. Across the parking lot, she saw Dean’s 4Runner blocking two different spaces.
She sprinted across the parking lot, almost forgetting to lock her car. Her palms were sweaty as she checked the time, almost dropping her phone as she held her ticket up against the automatic scanner.
Allie was waiting for her behind the turnstiles, an amused look on her face when she watched YN run towards her, looking winded and out of breath.
“Hold your horses, you’re right on time. They’ve just finished showboating and it’s almost time for puck drop.”
She followed Allie into the arena, wishing instantly that she had worn warmer clothes-or even brought a winter jacket with her. Allie lead her to a row close to the front, with two seats left on the end.
“YN, this is Hannah, Garrett’s girlfriend, and Jules, John Logan’s sibling. Guys, this is YN, Tuckers girlfriend.”
“The paralegal.” Jules nodded. “The one that’s too cool for higher education. Nice to meet you!”
She took a seat next to Hannah, eyes searching the ice for her boy. She realized belatedly that despite knowing what position Tucker played, she had no idea where to find him on the ice.
Hannah nudged her side. “Stick close to Jules if this is your first game. Their running commentary is a lifesaver.”
“Thank you.”
On the ice, Tucker found his gaze wandering towards the stands. His heart swelled with something similar to pride as he saw YN sitting with Hannah and Allie, joining in on their chants of fuck em up, fuck em up, hawks hawks hawks!
Briar played a fantastic game. Dean insisted it was the best one that Tucker had ever played.
YN waited with Hannah, Allie and Jules as the locker room emptied out, waiting for the Frozen Four to make their triumphant appearances.
When she saw Tucker, hair damp from the shower, looking all dressed up in his pinstriped shirt and suite jacket over dress jeans and cowboy boots, her stomach did somersaults. While Hannah rushed towards Garrett and Dean practically pounced on Allie, Tucker was clam and controlled as he pulled YN in for a deep kiss. He smelled like Old Spice with a faint undertone of sweat and coconut oil.
“You were fantastic. And I’m saying that as someone who didn’t understand what was happening half the damn time.” She laughed, kissing him again.
“I’m so happy you’re here.” Tucker admitted. “And that you made it without having a panic attack.”
“Anyone up for drinks at Malone’s?” Logan suggested, slinging his hockey bag over his shoulder. “The night is still young, and YN doesn’t have to go to work tomorrow.”
Tuck raised his eyebrows, tucking YN into his side, looking to her for approval.
“Sounds great!” She agreed. “I’d love to.”
The group cheered as Tucker kissed the side of her head. Grinning, she turned to him and dropped her voice.
“Since I don’t have to go to work tomorrow, we can have a late night. Maybe I’ll wear one of your jerseys.” She hummed. “But not the one you wore on the ice today. That one is going straight in the wash.”
Tucker laughed, holding her hand in his as they walked towards the arena exit. “You in my jersey, on top of me, sounds like a fantastic way to end the night. But I have to beat you at karaoke first.”
She snorted. “Yeah right. We all know I’m more in tune than you are.”
You’d been doing ballet from the moment you could walk, so naturally you continued to dance in college. And while you were minoring in dance, you still chose a different major because while you loved ballet, you weren’t sure if you wanted to do that for a career.
However, tonight was Briar U’s first night of The Nutcracker. And you just happened to have scored the coveted part of the Sugar Plum Fairy.
Act I had gone smoothly and you were gearing up for your big moment. Little did you know your poor boyfriend was looking for you the entirety of Act I.
“Hand me that program again.” Beau whispers, earning some glares from the women in front of him. Dean passes the program to Beau.
“She’s listed as a principal, why hasn’t she come out yet?” Beau asks.
“Dude, I have no idea.” Dean whispers back.
“Did I miss her?” Beau asks rifling through the program again. Two women in front of him turn around glaring at him. No doubt for how noisy he’s being. Allie leans over Dean.
“Beau, the Sugar Plum Fairy doesn’t come out until Act II.” Allie says. “And shut up, your theatre etiquette is horrible.” She says shushing him. Beside her Hannah laughs quietly.
The house lights flicker before a voice comes over the intercom. “We hope you’re enjoying The Briar University Ballet Company’s production of The Nutcracker. At this time we will be breaking for a 20 minute intermission.”
“What!” Beau exclaims.
“Snack time man.” Dean says, getting up from his seat.
“What! I didn’t know ballet had a half-time.” Beau says. “I guess I’ll go buy more flowers.” He says.
The twenty minutes pass quickly and you’re buzzing as you take the stage. All of those practices leading up to this. You floated across the stage, every movement flowing effortlessly into the next. The hours spent bleeding through pointe shoes, the rehearsals that stretched late into the night, the corrections that had once reduced you to frustrated tears,they all culminated in this moment. When your Cavalier took your hand for the Grand Pas de Deux, you trusted him completely.
Everything went flawlessly, and it was finally time for curtain call. You step forward with Elliot, your Cavalier, as the crowd goes wild. You smile, soaking in the moment. Then a familiar voice cut through the entire theater.
“THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND!” You froze for half a second before fighting back a laugh. Oh no. Beau.
“PLEASE CLAP!” He says. The audience burst into laughter. Someone wolf whistles. The applause somehow became even louder.
You looked toward the audience just in time to see Beau standing at full height, clapping over his head like he’d just watched Briar win a national championship. Beside him, Garrett laughs so hard he can barely stand.
Logan cups his hands around his mouth. “WOO!” Dean covers his face with both hands.
“I don’t know him,” he mutters to the women from earlier.
Allie laughs at Beau and the guys’ utter lack of theatre manners. Garrett stands to join Beau. Hannah elbows Garrett.
“You are not helping. Clap like a regular person.” She says in between laughs.
“Oh I absolutely am, she killed it!” He says. Garrett stands to join Beau, shouting toward the stage.
“LET’S GO, Y/N!” He yells. Another whistle echoes through the theater. What had begun as polite theater applause somehow transformed into the kind of ovation usually reserved for a game winning goal. You couldn’t stop smiling. Your cheeks ached as you curtsied once more. You couldn’t wait to find Beau after curtain call. He finds you first, three bouquets of flowers in his arms.
“Was that your boyfriend yelling, ‘That’s my girlfriend, please clap’ from the audience?” You bury your face in your hands.
“…Yes.” You admit. Elliot grins as Beau finds you, his face lighting up. Elliot turns to you.
“He’s adorable.” Elliot says eyeing your boyfriend up and down.
“He is.” You agree. Elliot sighs dramatically.
“It’s such a shame.” He says. You raise an eyebrow.
“What’s a shame?” You ask.
“That he’s aggressively heterosexual.” Elliot says. You burst out laughing as Beau approaches.
“Baby, that was insane!” Beau says, switching the flowers to one arm as he pulls you into him with his other. Elliot grins at the two of you.
“Okay, I’ve got to ask. Do you have a brother?” Elliot says. Beau’s brows furrow in confusion.
“Uh no, I have a sister.” Beaus offers. Elliot looks disappointed.
“Damn, that’s of no use to me.” Elliot says disappointedly. He considers for a moment.
“If you ever discover you’re bi,” he begins.
“Elliot!” You say, slapping his arm.
“What?” he asks innocently. “I’m just keeping the door open.”
Beau laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Elliot winks at him.
“Most definitely.” Elliot confirms, before walking over to some of his friends.
“Sorry, he’s a little forward.” You laugh. Beau laughs too.
“You did so good! These are for you of course.” He says handing you all three bouquets. Red roses, pink roses, and white roses. Every variation that was being sold at concessions.
“Thank you, baby.” You say.
“Beau stand with your awesome girlfriend and let me take your picture! That costume is to die for!” Allie says holding up her phone. You grin, feeling Beau’s arm wrap around your waist mindful of your tutu. You look up at him, thankful to have such a supportive guy by your side.
god, it’s brutal out here — a garrett graham x f!reader request
a/n: my first GG fic — I hope I did him justice and this is what you were hoping for.
warnings; the boys being little shits, cursing, name calling, G being G and defending you, fluffy.
You and Garrett have been secretly dating for three months. And those three months had been fucking perfect. You had made him promise you that you could keep it quiet until you knew for sure if this was something that you were willing to blow up the entire friend group over. You and Allie had been best friends since day one of freshman year when you met in the campus production of 'Beetlejuice' and Garrett was Dean's best friend.
Allie and Dean were going on eleven months together, exclusively. Loud and proud. Which made things a little messy for you two — ergo, the promise that you had made Garrett swear to one night before he kissed you for the first time.
"We are low key until we know for sure," and Garrett had agreed immediately: willing to do anything and everything if it meant being able to call you his.
That was a while ago and it was starting to wear on you, all of this sneaking around.
When the hockey team were around, which was often, nothing was different between you two. You would make sarcastic cracks about his hair, he'd roll his eyes and quip something back about your lonely dating life and your eyes would narrow even though you both knew the truth.
Late at night, when your roommates were asleep, you took turns sneaking into each other's rooms and spending the night. You'd play music on your laptop and you'd lay in his bed beside him and you two would just exist.
Together.
The boys had noticed you spending more and more time around the house during daylight hours and had voiced their suspicions.
Dean straight up knew you two were 'at the very least fucking', he had said confidently one day in the library.
Someone hushed him and he makes a face in the direction of the sound before John Logan joins in.
"Garrett's not that stupid to get involved in that craziness," he says with a roll of his eyes. "Last thing he needs is a distraction like Y/F/L/N."
"She's stuck the fuck up," Dean groans gently. "Up tight, like shove a lump of coal up her ass and in two weeks you'd have a god damn diamond," he smirks.
This solicits a laugh from the group and your knee starts to bounce up and down nervously under the table you're sitting at.
The entire campus knew that you had come from old money. Your great grandfather was a hotel tycoon and you were poised to inherit the chain of international hotels with your family's name when you were 'ready'. But that wasn't all.
You were the youngest of three girls — your sisters had gone the socialite route and ditched school to become famous for just being rich. It gave you a shadow that you desperately tried to crawl out of. And a destiny that you weren't ready for nor wanted.
On campus, you're the icy heiress who cuts down anybody and everybody who dares speak to her. You're poised, confident in your skill set and are aware of what you want - some could even call you a bitch.
The only person who seemed to see through all of the bullshit and right down to who you truly were was Garrett.
He understood what it was like to be expected to do great things from a young age. He knew what it was like to have a family member who stole the spotlight and occasionally would drop the act and act like their fucking family again.
He saw the girl who liked to snuggle up and watch romantic comedies until she passed out in his arms. The girl who cries over her sisters' problematic headlines but doesn't bat an eye when she herself goes viral on Fifth Line for showing up to a game.
And if he were hearing this right now…
Beau Maxwell speaks up now and your stomach starts to churn as you know damn well who they're talking about.
"She just seems so uptight, I've never seen her actually relax," he points out in a hushed tone and you chew on your bottom lip.
It's not like the hockey team had been exactly welcoming, either.
After Garrett and Hannah's messy breakup after the St. A's game, things had definitely changed in the Hawks' house. The boys were now extra protective of Garrett and his feelings, something they could've cared less about before. But now that he was seemingly wounded, they had to watch out for their boy.
But Garrett wasn't wounded. If anything, Hannah was in the past and Y/N was the future.
Which was why he was so god damn frustrated with the arrangement that he'd agreed to in such a hurry that night.
Yes, for all intents and purposes, officially you were his girlfriend. The thought made his heart skip a beat. You understood hockey, you knew what it was like to have such pressure upon you and you knew what fame felt like and what was expected of you.
But he couldn't kiss you before he drops you off for class. He can't wrap his arms around your waist and kiss your neck like he wants to after a long practice where Coach was up his ass the entire time. And he sure as hell can't call you 'baby' without being looked at like he had three heads and having to explain everything before you were ready to.
So he bites his tongue and he clenches his jaw when he wants to kiss you. He digs his fingernails into his palms when he wants to nuzzle your neck and he kicks his own ass mentally whenever he feels the urge to call you anything out of your name.
And when you're alone, his hands are in your hair, lips anywhere he can get them. He's whispering how much he loves you and how much he longs for the day that he can show you off. And you fucking eat it up with a spoon.
"Totally wrong for G," Dean mumbles with a shake of his head. "And she's completely stuck up for someone who doesn't know the first thing about decorum," and you scoff softly before covering your mouth immediately. That's fucking rich coming from Dean of all people. Before Allie, he threw his dick at anybody who had a pulse and batted their long eyelashes up at him.
You'd grown up in the same circles at Dean, so hearing his judgment on you wasn't new. You'd heard it throughout high school in New York City with him — a private establishment on the Upper East Side where only the most elite of celebrity children and rich kids got to go.
But to hear John Tucker's voice - that was the final nail in the coffin.
"She's kind of a bitch," he states simply and the boys all nod in agreement and you inhale slowly.
Your shaking hands close your textbook and you slowly slide them into your backpack and stand. You can feel the corners of your eyes burning and your eyes are watering. You walk out of the library and shoulder your bag quickly as you hasten your feet and storm off.
Your thumb brings up Garrett's contact and you see his location: the gym. While his team is trashing you in public, he's clueless across campus putting in the work. And you make your way towards the gym, heart racing.
The ten minute walk does nothing to calm you down and your arrival is announced by the heavy metal door swinging open and hitting the cinder block wall behind it. Garrett jumps slightly and looks over his broad shoulder at the interruption and softens immediately when he sees you.
"Hey," he says with a gentle smile, confused yet pleased with your sudden appearance. He racks his weights and smirks, "What are you doing here, I thought you were studying for finals?" he asks, reaching up and stroking your cheek.
Garrett senses something is off with you and he scans your face for any sign or clue. When that doesn't help, he just flat out asks, "What's up, baby?"
You fall apart and blurt everything out, how Dean was orchestrating a 'Fuck Y/N' club meeting in the library this afternoon and how the entire time had joined in on ragging on you. You sniffle and gasp for air, trying to calm yourself down and his jaw tenses.
"They said all that?" he asks evenly, eyes flickering over your shoulder before back on you.
You wipe your face and shake your head, "It's whatever, G," you sigh. "They don't have to like me," you mumble.
Garrett stiffens and shakes his head before he grabs your chin and forces you to look up into his eyes.
"No," he says with a halfhearted shrug, "But they do have to respect you," he tells you. And the same hand that was under your chin drops, grabbing your hand and walking out of the gym quietly.
With his free hand, Garrett checks his phone and nods once and sets course towards the house. He's walking faster than usual, like he's got a purpose and he hasn't let go of your hand yet.
You walk across campus, hand in hand with your boyfriend and while that may seem so trivial to some people; right now, you're on cloud nine even though his entire team despises you.
He walks up the steps to the Hawks house a few minutes later and opens the door with a forceful shoulder, letting you step in first.
Dean, Logan, Tucker and Beau are all sitting on the couch with beers, playing NHL 2K26 and only Dean looks over to see who's joined them. He smiles at Garrett and his face falls slightly when he sees you standing with Garrett, fingers entwined.
"Pause the game," Garrett says in a low voice.
Logan laughs, "In a second, I'm about to score."
"Yeah right," Tucker counters, "G, grab a beer my-"
"Pause the fucking game!" Garrett repeats, this time in a dangerous tone and Logan instantly gnashes his thumb into the pause button and the boys all turn their attention to Garrett.
His jaw is clenched and he squeezes your hand gently before lifting your hands up and pointing at them.
"You see this? This—" he pulls you into his side by your waist and shakes his head, "Is my girlfriend," he snaps, "Her name is Y/N," he says in a tone that one would use with toddlers.
Tuck sits, dumbfounded, "We know her name," he says simply, waving a hand at Garrett.
"So then tell me why she's telling me she's hearing you calling her a bitch?" he glares at his teammate who turns a deep shade of red and leans back in his seat as he handles his shame.
"And you—" Garrett turns at Logan. "I don't want crazy? I fucking live crazy, that's all I fucking know and she's the only person that knows what that feels like… truly feels like, being a kid in this fucking life," and he's not just talking about fame anymore.
Dean sits up as if he's going to leave before Garrett rounds on him and glares.
"You don't know what's good for me," Garrett tells him simply.
"I do," Dean scoffs gently as if it's the most absurd thing he's ever been accused of.
"You fucking don't because if you did, you'd have noticed I've been the happiest I've been since Hannah—" he motions to you who's simply taking this scene all in, still holding onto him. "Cause of her."
His arm is still around your waist like you're holding him back from doing something really stupid.
"You don't have to like that I'm dating her but you're gonna show her a little bit more fucking respect. No more digs, you say hello to her when you see her—"
The boys bow their heads as if they're getting scolded by Jensen and Garrett shakes his head.
"Fucking Neanderthals, all of you," he states.
Tucker's the one who breaks the silence after a few moments of awkwardness and he sighs.
"Sorry, Y/N," he says simply, "It won't happen again," he tells you seriously as he stands up and walks out of the living room and upstairs.
Logan exhales and rubs his knees gently. "Yeah," he says softly with a shake of his head. "If you make G happy who the fuck am I, right?" he asks softly.
Dean stays quiet, gritting his teeth.
It's clear you're not going to get an apology from Dean but the look on his face offers up some sort of treaty. His pride is too strong to say the words 'I'm sorry' to anybody other than Allie Hayes and you can respect that. Even though you knew you'd get payback one day.
Garrett rolls his eyes at Dean and scoffs, mumbling something under his breath and he looks at you sighing.
"C'mon," he says softly, tugging you towards the front door and leaving Dean and Logan in silence. "Let's go get dinner," he offers. "My treat, our first date," he smirks as he moves his arm from your waist up to your shoulders and he pulls you into him, kissing your temple. Like he hadn't just lit up his entire team for talking about you.
"You're fucking insane," you smirk as he pulls his keys out and opens your door to the passenger side of his Jeep.
Garrett grins down at you and shrugs, "You love it," he reminds you.
"I do," you agree with zero fight, shaking your head. You know it's futile. There's no use in lying to him, he knows you better than that.
"Good," he says. "So," he exhales and reaches over and grabs your hand. He rests it on his thigh and smiles happily. "Malones?"
Author Note: thank you so much for all the love on my first post, I'm going to make this into a series but in full honesty, I have no idea how this story will unfold but I'm excited to see how it goes and I hope you are too.
Now I have and will mess with the timeline a little because there are so many fun bits and pieces I want to include throughout this series.
This is a re-upload as I wasn't 100% happy with the original post so I hope you like it!
Masterlist
Part One / Next Part
Part Two
At first, you’d stupidly allowed yourself to live in the delusion that the boys would forget about your little dieting lie,
but unfortunately, much like the animal their team is named after, the boys paid more attention that you thought, that was
evident by the fact once in passing conversation with Hannah in the library you’d mentioned that during your period you were feral for Oreos, you had not noticed any of the boys were even in the library, because lets be honest, why would you, let
alone paying attention to your conversation, but now you find that every month, the Hockey House was full of them, and
you’d even caught the last time you’d gotten your period, Logan keeping a snack packet in his jacket pocket and Dean kept a
packet in his gym bag, although you had made yourself promise that no matter how desperate you get, you will never eat those.
More than once, the three musketeers had searched through the house whilst the boys were at practice, searching for the secret calendar or folder that they kept on you all, because for a home that was filled with a shocking amount of dirty clothes, discarded equipment such as hockey sticks and a small, but rotund racoon that lived in the bins outside you had named Paco, the bathroom upstairs had a draw filled with period products, extra pain relief and heat pads were stored in the first aid kit under the kitchen sink and the solo cupboard situation above the fridge was kept stocked with Hannah, yours and Allie’s favourite period snacks.
Due to a small evacuation in your building thanks to a student trying to dry their socks using a hot-plate, you girls ended up at the Hockey House early this morning, arriving before the boys you’d made yourself at home, you sat at the kitchen island, back facing the living room with a zoology textbook resting in front of you, your notebook open and a pen resting in your hand.
“How did you guys get in?” Dean’s voice rang out as the front door slammed open, adding to the already present door handle shaped hole in the wall.
“Door was unlocked.” You respond, not looking up.
There was a few minutes of mindless bickering about who was the last person to leave, therefore responsible for not locking the front door as they filtered through the living room, throwing gym bags in various places and into the kitchen, Garrett patted you on the shoulder as a hello, doing the same as he passed Allie then sweeping Hannah up in a hug, Logan kissed your temple, Tucker waved and Dean, being Dean plonked his sweaty chin on your shoulder.
“You work too hard.” He whispered in your ear.
Ignoring the heat that rises up your neck, you roll your eyes before moving your shoulder in an attempt to shake him off, Dean chuckled lowly before placing a kiss behind your ear and standing upright, “Why are you guys here?”
“Some idiot designed a hotplate was for drying socks, they evacuated the building and we were hungry so.” Allie responds, shoving a handful of peanut M&M in her mouth.
Most of the boys nodded, seeming to understand the situation with an understanding which makes you question some pasts, the kitchen hummed with conversation mainly focusing on what needed to improve before the next hockey match before eventually the subject of food was brought up, and eventually everyone except you had agreed on a meal which led to Tucker sliding a bowl of cut up fruit, yoghurt and granola in your direction as pizza arrived.
“Theres chocolate in the granola.” Tucker whispers, sending you a cheeky wink.
You smile at him, mouthing a thank you.
The house was usually quiet at mealtimes, the boys all lounged in their designated seats on the sofa and armchairs available, watching a movie on the TV instead of their usual hockey-based entertainment which resulted in a lot less shouting whilst Allie and Hannah stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island staring at you whilst making dramatic yummy noises.
Your shoulders tense as you watch them, an unimpressed expression plastered on your face as you wonder how much trouble you’d be in with Garrett if you launched yourself over the counter to rugby tackle the slice of pizza out of his girlfriend’s grip – the cons outweighed the pros in that scenario so you settled with eating the meal prepared by Tucker, which admittedly was very good.
“This could all be over if you told the truth.” Hannah whispered in a sing-songy voice, waving her pizza around.
Tucker’s voice echoes from the living room, “Don’t be mean!”
Your eyes crinkle with amusement, Allie and Hannah both give him a fake, sympathetic looks, mumbling sorry as you smile softly, looking back down at your notes and continue eating the bowl prepared for you, overall Tucker was the most supportive of your “diet” so far, still offering you food but ones he seemed healthy and making a list of food items – with a little help from his saint of a mother – but would keep you full, you felt awful lying to him, especially since he makes the most effort to keep you included, but then again, later on when you’re going to be eating enough cheese fries to make your stomach hurt, you suspect you’ll feel better.
“How did your first shift go?” Allie asks, wiggling her eyebrows.
Thankfully, the testosterone filled living room was too engrossed watching Scarlett Johansson in a black catsuit fighting aliens, which honestly you couldn’t blame them.
Oh yes, your first shift as a coyote.
Thankfully, it wasn’t awful, although you felt like a new character joining a tv series with all the original characters, but everyone was friendly and welcoming, you had met your direct manage, Charlise, who was super friendly and sweet, she talked you through the bar set up, routine of the dances and thankfully, the drinks were simple due to limited options and thankfully, the patrons preferred to stick to primarily shots, spirts and mixtures with the occasional beer and simple cocktails.
And despite the expectations of a coyote ugly saloon, the customers were nice, just wanting a goodnight in a safe environment and to watch some pretty girls dance, and thankfully Charlise took safety very seriously therefore any assholes were removed swiftly by the security team and to top it off, Charlise had paired you with a girl named Kat to train you for your first couple of shifts; she was kind, funny and annoyingly, utterly stunning.
“It was good, the team is nice and the atmosphere is amazing, plus the security team are just as hot as the girls so double bonus.” You say curtly.
Hannah raises her eyebrows suspiciously, “Okay, well that’s clearly not all of it.”
You shrug, picking up a bit of strawberry and throwing it into the air, catching it in your mouth with ease, earning a whoop from Dean who you hadn’t realised was watching the three of you whisper like a group of school children with an unusual level of interest, you throw him a smile before turning back to Allie and Hannah.
You sign, “They’re all just so hot, when I said before that they’d make me look like a potato, I didn’t realise it would be so true! They’ve got me paired with this girl; Kat and she is just so... perfect!”
Allie puts down her pizza and moves around the island to stand beside you, “Okay, so you’re not feeling confident, how did you show up? How did you do your hair and make-up?”
Picking up your phone from beside your textbook, you open your photo album, “Like how I am now, hair up with a little bit of make-up.” You explain whilst finding the mandatory first shift picture you’d taken.
Allie took your phone, examining the picture with extreme focus before making a face similar to one you’d make when a young kid has tried their best to draw a picture of you, with your phone still grasped in her hand, she motions for Hannah who meets her halfway as they mauver around the island.
Your remaining confidence slowly vanishes when Hannah makes an identical face to Allie’s.
“Okay…” she starts, eyes looking from the photo, to you and back again, “Your hair and make-up are exactly the same now as they are in this photo… why are you wearing your hair like that?”
You motion to the low bun your hair is currently sitting in, “To keep it out of my face.” You explain.
Allie and Hannah hum before placing your phone down gently on the counter, Hannah speaks first after a few moments, “Okay, what I’m going to say is filled with love, but –”
“You look like a librarian.” Allie interrupts.
They both watch as your face falls, you know you didn’t look mega hot but a librarian – seriously? And not even a sexy one?!
Allie immediately feels terrible and so does Hannah as she grabs your phone again, unlocks it and scrolls through your photos as Allie watches over your shoulder, neither choosing to comment on the various pictures which are less than pure in nature, which reminds you to turn off the setting in which photos from your messaging are saved to your photo album, Allie raises an eyebrow, amused and impressed by the collection.
“Here, now this is the Dove we know on a night out.” Hannah says, turning your phone around to face you, on the screen you see a picture of the last karaoke night at Malone’s, you wore your hair in a half updo, light foundation, dark red lipstick and glittery eyeshadow.
“But I’m not on a night out, I’m working.” You say, softly.
“It’s exactly that, Dove! You’re there to sell an experience!” Allie exclaims quietly but still managing to attract the attention of most of the boys in the living room, Logan furrowed his brows and Dean looks confused, but all ultimately decide to ignore you all as Iron Man appears again on the TV screen.
“There are very few jobs where you get paid to look and feel sexy.” Hannah says with a knowing shrug.
“What am I meant to do?” you ask, confused by the idea.
“Embrace the fact you’re hot and dress like it.” Allie grins.
You furrow your eyebrows playfully and put on a dramatic pout, desperate for this line of conversation to stop, “Are you saying I’m not hot now? I expected more from you two.”
Hannah laughs, clearly catching onto the game, “No baby,” she says in a tone you’d heard Dean use a thousand times, you cross your arms dramatically and turn away from her, avoiding eye contact, Hannah signs, “You’re the hottest.”
You turn back to her, uncrossing your arms to bring your fingertips together beneath your chin, palms down and resting your chin on them, smiling widely and battering your eyelashes whilst pretending to be embarrassed.
“But seriously,” Allie says, breaking up the silly moment and bringing you back to reality, “Maybe the reason you aren’t feeling confident around these girls because you’re not joining in with the aesthetic of being a coyote,” she says, which annoyingly makes a lot of sense, “So, for your next shift, do your make up a little more and, wear your hair natural.”
Your stomach drops an inch lower as the last words leave her mouth, you watch as Allie bounces on the balls of her feet, ever since you were little you’ve always heard the phrase, “you always want what you don’t have” and if that weighed any significance to you, it was your hair.
Like Allie Hayes, you had been given a head of curly hair, but unlike Allie, you had never learnt how to take care of it, or how to embrace it, which typically resulted in you either straightening it or wearing it up. In fact, you had never shown any of the boys your natural hair and had only shown Allie and Hannah by accident during a girls night when you’d forgotten to sort it once you’d gotten out of the shower.
“But Allie I don’t know how to do my hair.” You admitted, completely embarrassed.
Allie’s smile only widened, “Well, lucky for you, I can teach you.”
Fuck.
About an hour later, Logan wrestled your textbook from your grasp, moving you from the kitchen island to the sofa where everyone else had situated.
Hannah, naturally was scooped in Garrett's lap, head resting on his shoulders, Tucker was curled up with Allie next to him, a blanket across the pair, Logan plonked you down next to him which meant you were sat between him and Dean.
Pulling you feet up tucking your toes under Logan's legs and lean instinctively into Dean who without thought drapes an arm over you shoulder, his hand resting on your pulled up knee.
The movie finishes and the next in the saga starts, everyone settled into a comfortable silence, the smell of popcorn fills the Hockey House, Dean sneaks you a few pieces thankfully avoiding the watchful eye of Tucker, eventually people start to fall asleep, it starts with Dean, followed by Hannah and Garrett then Tucker.
After some time, you look over at Allie who mercifully is still awake, gently guestering with your head towards the door signally you need to leave, she nods in agreement before standing.
"I have to get going." You say as you gently unwrap yourself from Dean's arm, hugging Logan before standing to head into the kitchen, Allie looks confused, blinking at you, you silently mouth "work" in response.
Allie nods, tip-toes over Tuckers legs and towards Hannah, gently nudging her awake, whispering that we needed to go, Hannah nods sleepily before waking Garrett, "I'm going to head out with Allie and Dove." She whispers.
"But you're staying here tonight?" Garrett asks, stretching his arms.
Dean stirs from his position on the sofa, "What's happening?"
"The girls are leaving." Logan says.
Dean furrows his brows, both sleepy and confused, standing up and plodding into the kitchen where you collected your textbook, notebooks and various colour pens, filling a glass with water, Dean watched you carefully, "Do you need a lift?"
"No." Allie calls from the living room, too quickly and too certain, startling Tucker awake.
You chuckle, "Thank you though."
Dean smiles at you before nodding, "Okay, where are you all going?"
You freeze for a minute, "Just back to the dorm, the groupchat says the building is clear." You shrug.
Dean hums, "Alright then."
Quickly, and before more questions can be asked, you, Allie and Hannah hussell out the front door and into the cooling afternoon air.
Frustrated, Dean gulped the last of his water before putting the glass into the sink, he will deal with the scolding from Tucker later about not cleaning up after himself.
What was so important that all three of you needed to rush out now?
Why wouldn't any of you give an explanation?
What was all the hushed conversation about earlier?
The Hockey House had fallen silent, Tucker had fallen back to sleep within seconds, Logan being as chill as he is, didn't think much about what had just happened and simple refocused on the TV and Garrett just pouted at the fact his girlfriend has abandoned him abruptly without a valid explanation.
Dean however stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, eyes fixated on the front door he had watched you all disappear through, questions circulating in his head, maybe you had a girl thing? Maybe a paper due - no you'd written your paper last week. He really disliked having more questions than answers, walking over to the front door, he snatches his jacket from the hanger and shoves it on
"And where are you going?" Garrett asks, swiveling the armchair round to face Dean.
Logan threw his head back with a sign, clearly irritated by the interruption and Tucker huffed in annoyance for having his nap interrupted once again.
"Just out, that okay, dad?" Dean snips in response, deciding not to wait for a response as he grips the door handle and exits the house.
For the third time that night, the door to the house shuts quickly, Garrett looked over at Logan, leaning forwards in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees.
"Hey," he whispers trying to get Logan's attention, it works as he turns to face his friend, "Is it just me, or is Dean on edge recently?"
Logan let out a soft chuckle, "Yeah, I've noticed, I think Dove is getting under his skin a little."
Garrett purses his lips, and nods because he knows you get under Dean's skin, you had softened him since you'd become friends, Dean was already a care-free guy but since meeting you, he'd changed, become considerate and grossly thoughtful, he is the reason why one week a month, the Hockey House was filled with Oreos after all.
Summary: reader gets a new job at an infamous Coyote Ugly bar, after begging her best friends Allie and Hannah to keep her secret, Dean is suddenly desperate to work out what his friend is hiding.
Masterlist
Part Two
Part One
“A coyote ugly saloon?!” Allie and Hannah screech in unison.
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands and curling yourself up in a desperate attempt to disappear as their collective outburst captures the attention of most of the patrons sitting inside Malone’s, despite the loud music bouncing off the walls.
“Please, speak louder I don’t think the other side of Briar heard you!” you say sarcastically in an attempt to halt their obvious excitement; separating your fingers so you can peak through at your friends.
“This is amazing, Dove!” Allie beamed, leaning over the bar to snatch your shoulders with her hands and giving you a gentle shake, “Why aren’t you more excited? And please, please tell me you’re going to be dancing on the bar!” she begs, sending you a flirty wink.
You couldn’t help but smile at her behind your hands, Allie has always been a cheerleader for you and Hannah, nicknaming you Dove from the moment you both first met at sophomore orientation, stating that you looked like a frightened, innocent bird which, at the time, was absolutely true – starting a new school is always terrifying but add in the fact you’re from abroad, was even more terrifying. You then found out that Allie lived in your building with her new roommate, Hannah and that was the moment the three musketeers was born.
You roll your eyes at her, but smile at her enthusiasm, “Sorry to let you down, but it’s just a bar job, not the most exciting work but its work.” You shrug, returning to your once abandoned beer on the bar and taking a swig; truthfully your last job had ended due to a shuffle in staffing, the owner wanted to rotate staff allowing other students the opportunity, you were angry to say the least, but you moved on.
Allie whines whilst Hannah blows a raspberry against her hand from the bar stool beside you before taking a large, dramatic sip of her pina colada through the curly straw. “Boo! But you’re so hot, why aren’t you dancing?”
“Trust me, the girls they have dancing make me look like a potato, they are you kinda hot Allie and I’m not that, which is absolutely fine by me, the tips will be good regardless and the hourly rate is decent enough I can still live comfortably.” You respond, all of which is true.
Allie rolls her eyes at you, “Shut up, you’re beautiful, plus you have phenomenal tits and a great ass!” she exclaims, throwing her bar rag directly at your face, which catches you off-guard making you wobble on your chair as you peel the gross, slightly damp cloth from your face, gathering one end in your right hand and the other in your left, pulling it tight as you lean over the bar and towel whip Allie.
The three of you laugh hysterically as you get a few good hits in whilst Hannah, in her tipsy chaos, found the ice bucket on the other side of the bar and started throwing – not very well – ice cubes at Allie.
“When do you start?” Hannah asks through her laughter, her eyes slightly glassy due to the three pina coladas.
Leaning further over the bar to continue whipping Allie as she tries to escape, “Tomorrow night.” You respond.
“What starts tomorrow night?” a voice behind you speaks, making all three of you jump.
Startled, you glance over your shoulder, halting your attack on your friend to see not one, or two but all of the Briar Hawks standing behind you, taking in the view as you and lean, almost entirely over the bar, balancing your feet delicately on the footstool of the chairs as Allie jumping around like a feral alley cat attempting to avoid your attacks.
“What the hell are you doing?” Logan asks in utter confusion.
You purse your lips for just a moment, “Lets be honest, this isn’t the weirdest thing you’ve caught us doing.” You say, sending him a playful wink.
Tucker signs, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans signing like a disappointed dad recalling all the ridiculous things he’s been witness too, “I wish I could disagree.”
Garrett just stood there and rolled his eyes at the three of you before taking in the image of his girlfriend leaning over the bar, having accepted a long time ago that this type of behaviour was typical whilst Dean just smirked, his eyes rolling over you with zero shame.
“Please continue, this is the hottest thing I’ve seen all day.” He says, gesturing for you three to continue before crossing his arms, waiting.
You huff at him, making an effort to sound disgusted before throwing the rag back at Allie, which clothes lines her as it wraps around her head causing a howl of laughter to echo from the group, you plink yourself down onto your seat with little to no grace whilst Garrett guides Hannah back to her seat as she wobble slightly, planting a kiss on her forehead before whispering something in her ear which makes her blush.
Garrett takes the empty seat to Hannah’s left, Logan and Tucker then occupy the seats beside him whilst Dean takes the empty seat to your right.
“So, what’s happening tomorrow?” He asks you, his signature Di Laurentis smile playing on his lips.
“Oh, she’s –” panic floods through your body as Allie begins to speak, causing you to blurt the first thing that came to your mind, which regrettable was:
“Starting my diet.”
You have to physically suppress your cringe at your own lie.
“But I thought –” Hannah starts.
Your eyes flicker from Dean to Hannah to Allie, slightly widened and begging for your friend to catch onto your lie.
“Yes.” Allie interrupts, faltering only slightly due to the sheer volume of her initial response, thankfully she gathers herself quickly, letting out a small cough, “Dove is starting a diet… tomorrow night.”
Logan’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his jaw slacking slightly, glancing around at his fellow teammates, “I mean, if that’s what you want to do, we support you but honestly, there’s no need for you to do that.”
“Yeah,” Garrett agrees almost immediately, “You look great, Dove.”
Tucker nods in agreement, a sincere but soft smile on his face, Hannah looks up at her boyfriend with huge puppy-dog eyes, and your heart flutters, because despite the past and continuous reputation of the Briar Hawks, they were the biggest supporters of the three girls that had somehow become a vital part of their ecosystem.
“I told you.” Allie says, before smirking evilly, “Great tits and ass.”
You freeze for a moment at her comment, not missing how Tucker and Logan suddenly looks completely away from you, Garrett laughed into Hannahs hair and just as you’re about to throw your beer mat at her, a voice from beside you halts your actions entirely.
“10 out of 10.” Dean mutters in agreement with Allie, loud enough for only you to hear before casually ordering his drink.
You turn your head to look at him, eyebrows furrowed as he glances back at you, those blue eyes running along your body as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, you roll your eyes in response whilst biting back the smirk that threatens to show on your lips.
Apart from the odd drunk kiss, nothing else had happened between you and Dean, not because of his lack of trying because he did try, often with zero success, deep down you enjoyed being the girl that Dean couldn’t talk into his bed and instead, the two of you settled into a genuine friendship with a routine of flirting and teasing because as strange as it was to admit out loud, Dean and you had found a strange comfortableness with each other.
As the night lingered on, the conversations flowed between hocky – of course and classes, drinks continued at a leisurely pace as Malone’s filled with more students looking to ease the stress of the day with cheap booze, mingling and if they were lucky, a stress relief in the form of a hook up; slowly the group sat at the bar began to thin.
Hannah continued to get progressively drunker so eventually Garrett scooped her up, she kissed you and Allie messily on the cheek, informing us how much she loved you both with a promise to text once she had gotten home safe – that didn’t happen, Garrett messaged you ten minutes after leaving to let you know that Hannah was staying at the hockey house – Logan and Tucker called it a night a few hours later, Logan had some early handyman jobs in the morning, offering you a lift back to your dorm which you greatly accepted, giving Allie a kiss on the cheek before confirming your coffee date the next day, which sadly left Allie working behind the bar and Dean chatting up some blonde by the toilets.
Unbeknownst to you, Dean watched as you left with Logan’s arm dangled over your shoulders, pulling you close as your head tips back causing your hair to fall away from your face as you laugh at whatever Logan had whispered in your ear; the three of you turn to look back for just a moment to wave a final goodbye before disappearing into the night.
After a few moments and realising he hadn’t paid an ounce of attention to Becky… no, Bella? He excused himself from his conversation and weaved through the still lingering crowd, smiling warmly at those who called his name, clapped him on the shoulder and made passing congratulations on the results of the last hockey game.
Once he’d reached the bar, he leant his elbows on the bar and watches as Allie served drinks to mostly drunk students, he caught her attention as she flicked her hand, silently asking if he wanted another drink, Dean shakes his head.
“Heading out with Bianca?” Allie asks without a hint of judgement, she’d witnessed Dean’s play-by-play many times before, the routine usually ended with the completely consenting girl and Dean either disappearing out the front door, or more disgustingly and unfortunately, more commonly, into the girls bathroom.
Bianca! That was her name, Dean thought, “Nah, I’m going to leave her here wanting more.” He winks with a laugh.
Allie gags dramatically, causing Dean to roll his eyes, Dean knew that Allie was off-limits, she had a boyfriend.
“I wanted to ask you a question.” Dean says.
For the second time tonight, Allie looked confused, “What’s up?”
“What’s actually going on with Dove? A diet, seriously, the girl loves her food plus, I’ve seen her out-eat Tucker and that in itself is worth an award,” Dean says, an odd feeling of pride echoed from his words, but his tone soon changed to one of concern as he dips his head low, “Did someone say something to her?” he asks.
Allie picked up immediately on the concern in Dean’s voice, and she hated to lie, especially to her friends, “No, no one has said anything to her,” she says, not a lie but continued with a lie, “She’s just… self-conscious, I guess.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, “Okay, well if that’s true, it’s stupid because she has no reason to be self-conscious, but I know you’re lying to me, so what’s really going on?”
Like a true girls-girl, Allie went to lie again but the knowing look on Dean’s face told her it was useless to do so, “I can’t tell you.” She admits, a small weight lifting off her shoulders.
But the moment she spoke the words, Allie realised her mistake, because it was one of the worst thing to say to Dean Di Laurentis, because as a person Dean was nosey but as a friend, Dean was over-invested, and once he knew one of them had a secret, he made it his soul mission to find out what it was, but what made it extra enticing was it was a secret you kept because you didn’t keep secrets, especially not from Dean.
Dean hums, “So, our little Dove has a secret.” He mused, pressing his palms together and resting his chin on his fingertips like an old-school villain.
Allie rolls her eyes at him, letting out an exhausted sign as she clocks the people waiting at the bar, she turns back to Dean for a moment, “Just leave it alone, she’ll tell you when she’s ready.” She warns before walking off to the other side of the bar to continue her seemingly never-ending shift.
But Dean would not leave it alone, you had a secret and he was going to find out what it was.
Please let me know what you think, to be or not to be a series??
summary: john logan learns what it's like to watch the world cup with you. fluff, requested!
Being a star-team hockey player and all, Logan has seen his fair share of intense fan behaviour. People showing up to their games in painted faces, tons of merch, a usual over the top excitement.
Still, he thinks you are acting a notch above it.
“You know you can’t wear that today, right?” you say, sitting on bed, narrowed eyes almost burning a hole on his chest.
Logan looks down at his own clothes, “What’s wrong with it?”
“It's a hockey hoodie.” You say, your voice in such an obvious tone that makes him reevaluate the entire colour.
He stares at you, waiting for clarification, “Uh, yeah?”
“We’re watching football tonight, Logan.” You remind him, “I can’t have you wearing merch from a whole different sport.”
Maybe it’s the novelty of it all that gets him so amused. When you two started dating, it took you some time to understand the basics of hockey. You eventually learned all the common terms, and somewhat the rules, though barely enough to have an idea of what the fuck is going on. So it’s safe to say he wouldn’t expect you to be so… Intense about any other sport. But there you are, wearing a jersey, with shimmery eyeshadow adorning your pretty face and a really strict plan of watching most of the World Cup’s games — except the ones where you’ll be watching him play, of course. Glad to know you still love him more, he thinks.
“You could wear the white one,” you say, getting up and heading to his closet, rummaging through his clothes, “You don’t have a blue one, do you?”
He lets out a chuckle, “No, honey. White is on the third drawer, I think.”
You open said drawer, finding his hoodie. He bites back a smile as he watches your face turning into a little grimace, eventually just deciding to accept it and toss it at him, “Meh, that’ll do. I gotta get you a jersey.”
He stares at you, half awe, half surprised, “This must be a big thing for you.”
“‘Course it is,” you shrug, sitting back on the edge of his bed. A subtle twinkle appears in your eyes as you keep talking, “You should see it back home. Flags everywhere, streets getting painted.”
Logan walks to his bed, knee resting next to you as he curves to kiss your face, “You miss being home?”
You look at him, pensive, “Yeah, a little,” you say, “Not everyday, but– You know, in times like these.”
He hums, “We’ll have fun tonight, though.”
Your face opens into a beaming smile, “We will!” You rise up to press a peck on his lips, “I’m excited!”
—
Excited, turns out, is an understatement.
“No, no! Oh fuck, they’re heading for the goal again,” you jump from the couch, standing closer to the TV and back to Logan’s side. It’s stressful, and you keep switching between English and your first language, a casual string of strong words he can only assume, by your tone, that it’s not the kindest of compliments.
He’s never seen you like that.
While you scream at the TV, Logan keeps chuckling to himself, looking around the living room. He’s amazed at how meticulous you planned for the whole thing — you wearing all the main colours, popcorn and snacks laying around the room, and your joyful squeal every time your team finally scored a goal, which might just be his new found favourite thing.
He decides he must have you this happy again.
And if this is happening, then he really needs to step up on his game. Thankfully, nothing that a little help from Allie and her theater department decoration skills won’t do, and a text to Tucker to beg him to run to the closest store can do some wonders, followed by another text to all your friends: 8pm, our house. wear appropriate colours or you WILL get tossed out!!!
Logan picks you up from your shift at Malone’s that night, and you don’t ask about the growing smirk he has on his face all the way home.
He turns to you once he parks his car in their garage, “I have a surprise for you.”
“You don’t say,” you grin, sarcastic tone in your voice, “Course you do. It’s written all over your face.”
“Shut up, no it’s not,” he beams. You watch as Logan gets out of the car, running to open your passenger door, offering you his hand, “Come on, close your eyes.”
“What, now?”
“Yes, now!” He guides you out, getting behind you to use his hands to cover your eyes, “Just to make sure.”
You giggle, moving your hands to hold his over your face, “Why am I nervous?”
“Don’t be,” he says in a low voice, face close to your ear. He stops you, placing you in front of the door and knocking. You hear a commotion inside, a rumble of voices shushing and heading closer, then the door opening. Logan lifts his hands, “Okay, open your eyes now.”
Your friends in coordinated colours are the first thing you see, the very same colours from your beloved jersey they're handing you now. There’s a star garland and fairy lights all over the ceiling, and silky, colourful pieces of fabric serving as tablecloths for the coffee table, covered in snacks and drinks — a little “take a shot for every goal” plaque right behind them.
“You like it?” you hear Allie say, but you don't even look at her. Soon you’ll notice her eyes are covered in colourful makeup, Hannah’s too, but now your attention is everywhere, “It was all Logan’s idea.”
You turn around to face your boyfriend, and he coos at you once he sees your teary eyes,
“Aw, baby.”
“Logan, what– How– What the fuck, man.”
He chuckles, his hands going to your cheeks, lips to your forehead, “I know it’s not the same as being back home…”
“Stop,” you shake your head, “This– Oh my god, this is– This is everything.”
“Well then,” he says, turning you around to push you inside, “Go change into your clothes, game starts in an hour. I’ll call the pizza place.”
“Wait, Logan–” You pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, your voice still wobbly, “Thank you. I– I don’t have words.”
He presses you closer to his chest, pressing a kiss to the side of your face, “Anytime, honey. Or every four years, at least.” You chuckle, stepping back to look around the room one more time. Logan watches you, “Does it look like back home?”
You hum, face close to his, a teary smile on your face, “Feels like it.”
notes: thank you for reading! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated! <3
summary: keeping dean di laurentis a secret was easy. until one careless text turned your perfectly hidden romance into a disaster waiting to happen
warnings: mdni 18+ (kinda semi-public, dry humping, fingering), fluff, cursing, no use of y/n, english isn't my first language
word count: 8.6k
a/n: and I'm back with my very first dean di laurentis fic. he gives me such jj vibes that I physically couldn't stop myself from writing something for him. so, as usual, I'm waiting for your feedback <3
ᯓ★ now playing…
5 seconds of summer - english love affair
THE BRIAR U HOCKEY HOUSE WAS BUSTLING WITH MUSIC AS USUAL. Hundreds of people were packed inside, dancing, drinking, celebrating the latest win. Every room was overcrowded with bodies and noise. The floor trembled beneath your feet from the bass, laughter echoed from somewhere upstairs, and every few minutes someone would erupt into drunken cheers that spread through the house like wildfire. It was chaos in the way only a hockey house could be.
And of course you couldn't skip it. Not when Dean Di Laurentis was going to be there.
Maybe that was the real reason you kept showing up to these parties. Certainly not for the beer, and definitely not for the endless stream of hockey stories you had already heard a hundred times before. No, you came because these parties gave you an excuse to be around him without raising suspicion. They gave you an excuse to sit in the same room, exchange secret looks, and pretend nothing was happening between you.
Which was funny considering there had been plenty happening between you for months now. Garrett would lose his mind if he ever found out. That thought almost made you smile.
The thing between you and Dean was going on for nearly a year now. Dean had somehow become your favourite secret. What had started as harmless teasing after practices and team dinners had gradually turned into something much more dangerous. Late-night texts became private conversations. Private conversations became stolen moments when nobody was paying attention. And stolen moments became sneaking away from parties together, lingering in empty hallways, wandering hands whenever Garrett wasn't near.
It wasn't exactly a relationship. At least neither of you had ever called it that. But it was impossible to pretend it meant nothing anymore.
Now you were sitting comfortably on one of the living room sofas surrounded by members of the Briar U hockey team. Logan was arguing animatedly with Tucker about some play move from tonight's game while your brother occupied a yellow plushy armchair nearby with Hannah curled up on his lap.
You watched them for a moment and immediately regretted it. They were being disgustingly sweet as always. The kind of sweet that made everyone around them want to throw something. Your attention drifted away before you could witness another round of heart eyes to something more interesting. Turned out the most interesting thing for you was Dean.
He sat across from you in another armchair, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just spent the last twenty minutes pretending you didn't exist. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, one arm draped casually over the backrest like he owned the place. That lazy look made you want to simultaneously slap him and climb into his lap. But the place was already occupied.
Some girl was perched on the arm of his chair.
She was tall and beautiful in that effortless, glossy way that was reminding you of those models from expensive magazines. Dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, long legs crossed and uncrossed with practiced elegance. She leaned in close to whisper something into his ear, her painted red lips brushing the shell of it, and she laughed – a soft, melodic sound that was clearly meant to charm.
Dean barely reacted.
His head tilted slightly, acknowledging her presence the way one might acknowledge a fly buzzing around a window. His lips didn't curve. His eyes didn't soften. He gave her nothing because he was looking at you.
His gaze met yours across the crowded room with such familiarity that your stomach immediately tightened into a knot of heat and irritation. It was infuriating how quickly your body was reacting to him now. One look and suddenly you were back in the shadows of his bedroom, his hands on your waist, his mouth trailing down your throat. One look and your skin was remembering the deep blue silky bedsheets against your back, his breath hot in your ear, the way he'd murmured your name like it was the sin and the blessing at the same time.
Your body remembered everything. Every secret touch beneath tables where nobody could see. Every stolen moment in hallways while parties were going on on the other side of the door. Every whispered promise that ended with both of you grinning like idiots, breathless and giddy and drunk lying on his bed, tangled in the deep blue sheets.
The girl beside him said something else. Her hand landed on his shoulder, fingers trailing lightly up to his neck, a possessive little gesture that made your jaw tighten. Dean nodded absentmindedly but he still was watching you. Tentative, full of something you both couldn’t acknowledge right now.
Your eyes narrowed. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, that familiar burning fire inside that you felt when Dean was with someone that wasn’t you. Maybe it was jealousy, or maybe it was just pure, undiluted annoyance at his absolute nerve.
Dean caught you gazing at the girl and his mouth twitched.
“Asshole” you mouthed, pulling a red solo cup closer to your lips, taking a sip of your drink.
The amused satisfaction on his face only grew, spreading across his features like he was savoring every second of your discomfort. His eyes dragged over you slowly, deliberately, a lazy inventory that made your breath catch despite yourself. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always did.
And then, almost like he wanted to see how far he could push you, he let his hand settle casually on the girl's thigh. Just rested it there. Palm flat. Fingers loose. A casual, intimate gesture that made the blood boil in your veins.
You scoffed loud enough for him to hear, and the sound turned a few heads nearby. You didn't care. Your blood was simmering now, a hot, prickling awareness that made your fingers curl into the armrests of your own chair.
The bastard actually looked pleased with himself. As usual. His eyes glittered with dark amusement, and that infuriating little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth like he'd just won a game you didn't even know you were playing.
The girl shifted, clearly misreading his hand as encouragement. She leaned in again, pressing closer, her fingers sliding up into his hair. Dean let her. He didn't move, didn't react. His hand stayed on her thigh, motionless, while his eyes held yours across the room with an intensity that made the air between you feel thick and charged.
You could feel that invisible thread that connected you across the room, taut and humming. His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered and then rose back to your eyes. And in that single, silent exchange, you understood exactly what he was doing.
He wasn't interested in her. He'd never been interested in her or any other girl lately. He was using them to see if you still wanted him, to see if you'd break first. To get a reaction and know if that fire in your eyes was just irritation, or something deeper, something that kept you up at night the same way he kept you up at night.
Your throat went dry.
His hand squeezed the girl's thigh once, lightly, a deliberate flex of his fingers that was meant for you. And your own thighs pressed together in response. You hated how your body always answered him before your brain could catch up. And you hated even more the desire to walk over there, pull his hand off her, and place it on your tigh instead.
You didn't. You stayed rooted in your chair, jaw tight, pulse pounding. But your eyes never left his. And his never left yours.
"God, why do you look so miserable?" an irritating ramble was heard before the sofa dipped sharply and Allie collapsed beside you with absolutely no regard for personal space.
Allie threw one arm around your shoulders and draped herself across the cushions. Her cheeks were flushed pink from alcohol, her lipstick smudged at the edges, and several strands of hair had escaped her perfectly arranged bun, curling loose around her face like she'd just rolled out of somewhere far more interesting than a hockey party.
You laughed despite yourself and let your head fall onto her shoulder, the warmth of her presence a welcome anchor in the noise.
"I don't look miserable"
"Sweetie," she tilted her head, examining your face with theatrical intensity. "I've known you for years. You absolutely look miserable. You've got that little crease between your eyebrows, the one that appears when you're either deeply annoyed or deeply horny. And since Garrett's not currently lecturing you about anything, I'm going to go with the second option"
You shoved her. She laughed.
"Briar just won," she continued, counting on her fingers with exaggerated precision. "There's free alcohol, free food, and Garrett is too busy making out with Hannah to bother you. By all logic, this should be your ideal night."
"Those are incredibly low standards,” you belly laughed, throwing your head back on the sofa. The ceiling was getting a little blurry.
"They're realistic standards. There's a difference," Allie rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, but there was a slight smile playing on her lips. You like this girl so much.
You chuckle and took another sip of your drink as the noise swelled around you. Someone was shouting in the kitchen. A group of freshmen near the keg had started chanting someone’s name loudly. The music pounded through the floorboards, bass vibrating up through your feet and settling somewhere deep in your chest. The whole house was caught in that giddy moment between victory and disaster.
Allie watched the chaos fondly. You watched Dean fondly. And unfortunately, Allie caught that immediately.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed, bumping your shoulder with hers.
You groaned before she could even finish the thought. "What?"
"There it is"
"There what is?"
"That look," she wiggled her fingers toward your face like she was casting a spell.
You straightened, schooling your features into careful neutrality. "What look?"
"The Dean look," she whispered his name like it was a dirty secret. Which, you supposed, it was. "I've had to watch this nonsense for almost a year, and I know that look intimately."
"There is no Dean look," you protested, trying to avert your gaze to something else but it still returned to Dean.
"Oh, please," she snorted. "I've watched you two orbit each other for months. There's absolutely a Dean look."
Heat flooded your cheeks, creeping up your neck. Across the room, Dean was pretending to listen to whatever Logan was saying. But the idiot had glanced in your direction at least seven times in the last five minutes. Not that you were counting. You absolutely weren't.
"Stop smiling," Allie ordered.
"I'm not smiling," you muttered hiding behind your cup.
"You are. It's that little one. The one that makes you look like you're remembering something very specific."
Your face burned hotter, "I hate you."
"No, you hate him," she nodded toward Dean. "Or at least, that's what you keep telling me. Usually while making that exact same face."
You covered your eyes with one hand, groaning into your palm.
Allie laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink on your dress, her shoulders shaking against yours. The unfortunate thing about confessing your secret during a wine night was that she never, ever let you forget it. From the moment you'd whispered Dean's name across her kitchen table, she'd made it her personal mission to torment you at every possible opportunity. Allie'd kept your secret faithfully, but she'd also weaponized it with surgical precision.
"You know," she continued, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial murmur that was somehow still loud enough to be heard over the bass, "if I didn't know you two were hooking up, I'd still think something was going on"
Your eyes widened, "Allie!"
"What?" she looked at you and raised her eyebrows.
"Volume," you hushed, looking up, checking that no one was paying attention to you two.
"Oh please," she waved a dismissive hand. "Nobody can hear me over this shit of music. I could scream 'Dean Di Laurentis is fucking my best friend every night' at the top of my lungs and nobody would notice."
"Allie"
"Okay, okay," she held up her hands in mock surrender, but her grin didn't fade. "I'm just saying. The man looks at you like you're the last woman on Earth. And the way he was watching you walk across the room earlier? I felt like I needed a cold shower"
You shoved her again, but you couldn't quite suppress the laugh that escaped you.
"Seriously," Allie pressed, leaning in closer until her breath was warm against your ear. "Does he do that thing everyone's been talking about? The thing with his tongue?"
Your face went nuclear, heat flooding up from your chest to the tips of your ears. "I'm not answering that"
"That's a yes," Allie giggled, biting her lip like she'd just won the lottery.
"That's a no comment," you rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.
"That's absolutely a yes," she looked positively delighted, her eyes dancing with unholy glee. "Okay, next question. Has he ever…"
"Allie!" The warning in your voice was sharp enough to cut glass.
She laughed, raising both hands in surrender, but the mischief in her eyes remained undimmed. "Fine, fine. Keep your secrets," she leaned back, taking a slow, theatrical sip of her drink. "For now"
You risked another glance toward Dean. Bad idea. Because he was already looking.
The second your eyes met, the corner of his mouth lifted into that familiar, lazy smirk. The one that said he knew exactly what he did to you. It made your stomach flip and your thighs press together and your brain short-circuit all at once.
Asshole.
Your body immediately betrayed you. Heat pooled low in your belly, a familiar ache that had become embarrassingly predictable whenever he looked at you like he was already counting down the minutes until he could get you alone.
Allie noticed. Of course she did, "Oh, that's pathetic."
"Shut up"
"You're pathetic"
"I'm not," you mumbled under your nose.
"Oh, you so are. And mentally, you're already making out with him in a closet somewhere," she tilted her head, studying you with mock concern. "Or more than making out, based on that little shiver you just did"
You shoved her shoulder hard enough to make her wobble. She giggled, spilling her drink on the yellow couch. There will probably be a stain in the morning.
For a few moments, you let yourself relax on the couch. The alcohol hummed pleasantly beneath your skin, warm and loose. The music blurred into a pleasant thrum. Garrett was laughing at something Hannah said, his usual intensity softened by something that looked suspiciously like affection. Logan and Tucker were bickering about something pointless and completely stupid. Dean was still across the room, still looking entirely too pleased with himself, still watching you with that dark, knowing gaze that made your pulse stutter.
Then Allie sat bolt upright, her eyes lighting up with the kind of enthusiasm that had never, in the history of human civilization, led to anything good.
You narrowed your eyes immediately, "No"
"I haven't even said anything yet,” she pouted, looking offended.
"You have that look,” you pointed out, turning your head on the couch to look at her.
"What look?" her voice was innocent and full of mischief. Oh, that wasn't good.
"The one that always gets me into trouble"
Allie gasped in mock offense. "I am offended by that accusation"
"Good. Be offended. Keep being offended. Don't say whatever you're about to say."
"Drink or Dare!" she announced, practically bouncing as she said the words to the entire room.
A collective groan echoed around the group. Logan dropped his head back against the couch like a man who'd just received a death sentence. Tucker muttered something obscene and looked ready to flee the country. Even Garrett paused mid-laugh, shooting Allie a warning look that she completely ignored.
"Come on," she whined, drawing the word out. "We're celebrating. Briar won," she shot you a pointed look, "We should be having fun"
"We're sitting," Tucker said flatly, not bothering to hide his lack of enthusiasm.
"Exactly. It's depressing. I'm depressed. You're all depressing me!"
Before anyone could stop her, she snatched your cup from your hand and disappeared toward the drinks table, weaving through the crowd with the single-minded determination of a woman on a mission.
You watched her go, dread and affection curling in your chest. "That's never a good sign"
"Never," Tucker agreed solemnly.
A minute later, Allie returned carrying a suspicious, shimmering mixture that seemed to contain at least three different types of alcohol and a bottle of liquor in her other hand.
She placed the cup proudly into your hand and put the bottle on the table, "Suit yourself"
You stared at it. Then at her. Then back at the drink, "You want me dead"
"I want you entertaining," she leaned in, voice dropping to a playful whisper. "And maybe a little looser. You get very honest when you're drunk. I want to hear more about what Dean does with his tongue"
Heat flooded your cheeks again, "You're the worst friend in the world."
"I'm the best friend in the world. I kept your secret, I never told Garrett, and I've been emotionally supporting your situationship for months. The least you can do is get drunk and give me details"
A reluctant laugh escaped you, warm and helpless. That was the problem with Allie. She was absolutely impossible to refuse when she looked this delighted with herself, her eyes bright and her grin so wide it crinkled at the corners. She'd kept your secret faithfully, never once judging, never once slipping. She just... tormented you. Mercilessly. Beautifully.
With an exaggerated sigh, you accepted the cup and dipped your head in surrender, "Fine"
Allie's grin immediately turned victorious, sharp and wicked.
Across the room, Dean leaned forward in his chair, his lazy indifference replaced by sharp, focused interest. His eyes found yours across the crowd, dark and knowing, and the corner of his mouth curved into something that looked almost like anticipation.
The game started innocently enough.
At first, it was just an excuse for everyone to keep drinking. Allie had to chug half her cup because she refused to reveal her celebrity crush, emerging red-faced and sputtering while Tucker howled with laughter. Logan was dared to call one of the assistant coaches and profess his undying love, which ended with the entire room wheezing as Logan tried to explain, through tears of humiliation, that yes, he was drunk, and no, he wasn't dying, he just had feelings.
Even Garrett got dragged into the chaos at some point, forced to let Hannah answer a question on his behalf. She revealed a secret about his obsession with organizing his sock drawer by color and it has sent the hockey players into a spiral of mockery. Garrett's ears went red. Hannah looked utterly delighted. The rest of the room collectively lost their minds.
The atmosphere grew louder with every round, the initial awkwardness dissolving into something looser and more reckless. People shifted closer together on the couches, bodies pressing into one another as space grew smaller. Drinks were constantly refilled, the clink of bottles and the slosh of liquor becoming a familiar rhythm.
You found yourself laughing more than usual. Mostly because Dean wouldn't stop staring at you.
Every time you looked up, his gaze was already there – waiting, patient, dark with something that made your stomach flip. The worst part was that he wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. A few months ago, the two of you would have been careful, stolen glances disguised as coincidence, eyes darting away before anyone could notice. Now it almost felt like a game. A dangerous one, considering Garrett was sitting less than ten feet away, oblivious and laughing at something Tucker said.
Dean caught you looking again. The corner of his mouth lifted into that familiar, infuriating smirk. You immediately flipped him off.
His grin widened, slow and pleased, like you'd just given him exactly what he wanted. His eyes dropped to your lips. Lingered. Rose back to meet yours with deliberate slowness.
"Okay!" Allie clapped her hands loudly enough to silence several conversations at once, her grin sharp and wicked. "Your turn"
Your head snapped around. "Mine?"
"Yes, yours," she said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, her eyes glittering with barely contained mischief. A chorus of agreement rose from around the room, scattered voices urging you on, Logan banging his fist against the coffee table in encouragement.
You groaned dramatically and sank deeper into the couch, the cushions swallowing you whole, "Fine"
"Dare or drink?" she singsonged, tilting her head and fixing you with a pointed look.
You glanced at the suspicious mixture sitting in your cup, that vaguely radioactive cocktail Allie had so lovingly prepared. Whatever was in there, it was going to taste terrible and hit hard.
You looked at Allie. At her knowing grin. At the way her eyes flicked briefly toward Dean before returning to you.
Your pulse quickened.
"Okay, dare," you said, sinking deeper into the couch cushions and stretching your legs out before you.
The alcohol had settled beneath your skin like honey, warm and slow, leaving you pleasantly loosened at the edges. For a blissful, ignorant moment, you forgot that agreeing to a dare at a Briar hockey party was historically a catastrophic decision. Your gaze drifted across the room and landed on Dean almost automatically, drawn by some gravitational pull you'd long since stopped fighting.
He was already looking at you. Of course he was.
"Read your last text message. Out loud." Logan's voice pulled you back to reality like a bucket of cold water.
The smug grin on his face immediately made your instincts flare. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking far too pleased with himself, like he already knew exactly what was waiting on your screen and was simply savoring the moment of revelation.
You narrowed your eyes at him, "You look way too happy about that dare"
"Just read the message"
A chorus of agreement rose around the room. Groaning dramatically, you unlocked your phone and thumbed open your messages. At first, you weren't worried. Your group chats were full of nonsense. Hannah sent you TikToks every day without fail. Allie texted you so often that half your conversations consisted entirely of voice notes and chaotic emoji strings.
Then your eyes landed on the latest message.
And your heart stopped.
For one horrifying second, you simply stared at the screen, convinced the alcohol was making you hallucinate. Maybe if you blinked hard enough, the words would rearrange themselves into something innocent. Something that wouldn't destroy your entire evening. Something that didn't make your stomach drop straight through the floor.
Nope. It was still there.
Because of the booze and the chaos of the party, you had completely forgotten who your latest conversation had been with.
Di Laurentis. Fucking Dean Di Laurentis.
And it wasn't innocent. Not even close. The message glowed up at you like a confession, the kind of words that could only be interpreted one way. Your thumb hovered over the screen as if you could somehow erase it through sheer force of will.
Slowly, very slowly, you lifted your eyes from the screen and scanned the room. Everyone was waiting. Logan was grinning like the cat who'd caught the canary. Allie was bouncing impatiently in her seat, practically vibrating with anticipation. Tucker looked deeply entertained. Dean looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.
The bastard.
You cleared your throat and glanced back down at the phone, praying the words had somehow changed while you weren't looking. They hadn't. You were absolutely, completely screwed.
"If G leaves you alone for five minutes, meet me in the kitchen ;)"
The words hung in the air for barely a second before the entire room fell silent.
It was the kind of silence that only happened when something had gone very, very wrong. You could hear your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. You slowly turned your head toward your brother.
A minute ago, Garrett had been completely uninterested in the game. He'd been too busy with Hannah curled up in his lap, his lips pressed to her cheek, whispering things that made her laugh. Now he was staring directly at you.
No. Not at you. Through you. Into your soul. His jaw was tight, his eyes flat and unreadable in that terrifying way that meant he was already cycling through various methods of murder and trying to decide which one was most appropriate for the occasion.
The thing about Garrett was that he had always been ridiculously overprotective. Growing up with him meant growing up with an unwanted bodyguard, a shadow that materialized whenever a boy so much as looked in your direction. If Garrett was around, potential suitors simply ceased to exist. During his first year at Briar, when you were still finishing high school, he somehow managed to intimidate every guy who had ever shown interest in you despite living hours away. To this day, you had no idea how he did it. His methods remained a mystery, but his results were undeniable. Your dating life had been a complete disaster because of him.
Things only got worse when you arrived at Briar.
You still remembered the first night he introduced you to the hockey team. Everyone had been friendly, warm, welcoming. Until Garrett casually placed a hand on your shoulder and announced in the coldest, most unyielding voice imaginable, "She's my sister. She's off limits."
The entire team had immediately nodded their agreement like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Well. Almost the entire team.
Your gaze flickered toward Dean for the briefest moment. Just a fraction of a second. Barely long enough to register.
His mouth twitched.
You hated him.
"WHAT?" Garrett practically roared, returning your gaze back to him.
Hannah nearly slid off his lap when he shot upright, his body going rigid in an instant. His arm immediately wrapped around her waist and pulled her back against him, but his eyes never left your face – dark, furious, the kind of look that had made grown men back away slowly. One hand gestured sharply through the air as though he couldn't decide whether to point at you or simply strangle whoever was responsible.
"Repeat it," he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
You nearly choked on your drink. Every muscle in your body tensed at once, a reflexive flinch that you barely managed to suppress. Under normal circumstances, you probably would have folded immediately. You would apologise, make excuses, deflect until he forgot. But the alcohol buzzing through your veins had loosened something in your chest, giving you a reckless, dangerous amount of confidence.
"It's just a text, G," you said, trying for casualness and failing miserably. "Don't overreact"
The room erupted.
Logan laughed so hard he nearly rolled off the couch, his face going red as he wheezed into his cup. Tucker buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. Even Hannah pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile she couldn't quite suppress. Across from you, Dean suddenly became fascinated by the beer bottle in his hand, turning it over like it held the secrets of the universe. The devilish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth completely ruined the act.
"Who sent that?" Garrett asked.
His voice was quieter now. Which was somehow much worse. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as he leveled that cold, sharp gaze at you. It was the voice he used before a game, before a fight, before he did something that would end up on someone else's permanent record.
"No one," you said with a shrug, taking another sip of your drink.
You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Or maybe you wanted to kill Dean Di Laurentis. Honestly, either option sounded appealing at this point. Your fingers tightened around your cup as you prayed for a distraction. Something like a fire alarm, a power outage, a sudden natural disaster that would rescue you from this nightmare would perfectly suit you.
"Someone sent it," Garrett pressed, his jaw tight.
"No one important"
"Someone" he stepped forward, and you felt the weight of his suspicion pressing down on you like a physical thing.
You pressed your lips together and said nothing.
Garrett stared. You stared back. The room watched the silent battle unfold with open amusement, nobody daring to break the tension. You could feel your resolve crumbling, could feel the confession building in your throat like a physical weight. You were already seconds away from breaking when Hannah finally decided to intervene.
With the patience of a woman who had clearly dealt with this nonsense before, she slipped out of Garrett's lap and took his hand firmly in hers. "Come on," she said, her voice soft.
"I'm not done," Garrett's eyes didn't leave your face.
"Yes, you are," she tugged his arm gently.
"Hannah…"
"Garrett"
Something in her tone made him stop. The sharp edge of his anger seemed to falter, replaced by something softer that he tried very hard to hide.
The entire room watched in fascination as the captain of the hockey team allowed himself to be dragged away like a misbehaving child. He followed her reluctantly, his feet dragging, but not before sending one last warning look in your direction.
The message was clear. This conversation was far from over.
A few seconds later, they disappeared into the kitchen. The door swung shut behind them, and the room exhaled collectively.
The silence lasted exactly three seconds. Then every single pair of eyes in the room turned toward you. And somehow, that felt even worse than your brother's fury.
“Gosh, you're all so noisy,” you complained, pushing yourself off the couch before the inevitable avalanche of questions could come crashing down on your head. There was no chance you were surviving another minute in that circle. Not with Logan looking so pleased with himself, Allie practically vibrating with energy, and half the hockey team staring at you like they had just uncovered the greatest mystery in Briar history.
You grabbed the last sip of your drink and finished it in one swallow. Everyone was smiling. Every single one of them.
“For God's sake,” you muttered, shaking your head. “A girl can't even have fun anymore”
The laughter that followed only made you roll your eyes harder. Honestly, you hated Dean. You hated him so much.
With as much dignity as someone fleeing a crime scene could manage, you slipped away from the lounge area and disappeared into the crowd. The music grew louder as you moved through the packed house. Bodies brushed against your shoulders, conversations blended together, and somewhere in the kitchen someone nearly dropped an entire tray of drinks.
Your heart was still beating too fast. Partly because of Garrett. Partly because of the entire room hearing that text. Mostly because of the infuriating smirk Dean had been wearing the whole time. The image refused to leave your head.
He hadn't looked nervous. He hadn't looked guilty. If anything, the idiot had looked entertained. And the worst part was that it had affected you far more than it should have. A year later and Dean Di Laurentis still had the ability to completely derail your thoughts. Sometimes you wondered if it had all been doomed from the start.
Maybe from that very first party during your freshman year, when you had shown up determined to prove to Garrett that you could survive college without his supervision. You had drunk too much, laughed too loudly, and somehow ended up alone in a hallway with Dean. One minute he had been making fun of you for trying to outdrink hockey players. The next he had been standing too close, looking at you in a way no one ever had before.
Everything after that had happened so quickly. And yet not quickly enough.
One stolen kiss had turned into another. Then into secret meetings. Late-night texts. Hidden smiles across crowded rooms. Months of pretending nothing was happening whenever Garrett was around. The memory alone was enough to make your stomach twist.
You escaped through the front door before you could think about it too much. Cold November air immediately wrapped around you. The contrast almost made you gasp. After the heat and noise inside the house, the porch felt strangely peaceful. The music became muffled behind the walls, reduced to a distant thump beneath the sound of the wind. For once there was nobody outside. No smokers. No drunk freshmen. No couples looking for privacy. Just you and the freezing wind that seemed determined to go straight through your clothes.
You rubbed your arms and exhaled slowly. A small cloud formed in front of your face before disappearing into the darkness.
A second later something heavy landed across your shoulders. Warm. Familiar. Your eyes dropped to the jacket immediately.
The scent reached you before anything else. Salty cologne that always reminds you of the sea , clean laundry, and something that always seemed uniquely Dean. You smiled despite yourself and you didn't need to turn around to know the person standing behind you.
Dean had a way of making his presence known before he even spoke. Maybe it was confidence. Maybe it was habit. Maybe after a year of sneaking around together your body simply recognized him before your brain did. Whatever it was, you always knew when he was near. It was irritating. And comforting. Which pretty much summed up your entire relationship with Dean Di Laurentis.
“I think I said meet me in the kitchen,” his voice came from directly behind you, low and rough from laughing and drinking all night. The warmth of his breath brushed your ear and a shiver ran down your spine.
“I think,” you replied, unable to stop the smile pulling at your lips, “you were too busy entertaining your latest addition”
Dean laughed softly. The sound was warm and familiar.
A moment later he stepped closer and slid an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him with an ease that spoke of long practice. The movement felt natural now. Familiar enough that you leaned into him without thinking.
“Jealous much?” he asked. The smugness in his voice was unbearable.
You rolled your eyes and finally turned in his arms.
“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpanned, circling your arms around his neck. “I've never been more threatened in my entire life”
“Good”
The yellow glow of the porch light softened his features, casting warm shadows across his face. His blonde hair was more disheveled than usual, probably because of that girl running her finger through them all night. His eyes never left yours, moving slowly over your face as though checking that you were really there.
“I hate you. God, I hate you so much, Di Laurentis,” you groaned, pushing at his chest.
The gesture carried far more frustration than actual force and Dean knew it. Judging by the way his grin only widened, he was enjoying every second of your suffering. The humiliating text, Garrett's near heart attack, the entire hockey team staring at you like you had just revealed state secrets – somehow all of it had become entertainment for him.
“You keep saying that,” he observed lazily, catching your wrist when you tried to shove him again. His fingers wrapped around it for only a second before loosening, but the touch lingered anyway, warm even in the freezing November air. “And yet I can't help noticing that your actions never really match your words”
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, “Please don't start acting like you're some kind of relationship expert. You sent me a text that nearly got us both killed”
“Nearly,” Dean repeated, emphasizing the word as though it somehow worked in his favor. He leaned back against the porch railing, looking entirely too relaxed for a man whose life had just flashed before his eyes courtesy of Garrett Graham. “See? That's the important part. If your brother was actually going to murder me, I'd already be dead.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped you. “The only reason you're still alive is because Hannah dragged him away before he could finish processing what he heard and understand that you were screwing his sister”
The memory alone was enough to make your stomach twist. Garrett's expression had gone from confused to suspicious to outright homicidal in less than ten seconds. You had spent your entire life dealing with his overprotective tendencies, but seeing that look while knowing that you were fucking his best friend was really terrifying.
Dean must have noticed the change in your expression because some of the amusement faded from his face. Not completely, nothing ever removed that infuriating smugness from Dean Di Laurentis, but enough that his gaze softened as it moved over your features.
“You're overthinking again”
“No, I'm being realistic”
“You're definitely overthinking”
“Dean, my brother practically declared war in there”
“Your brother declares war every time a man breathes in your direction”
“That's not the point”
“It kind of is”
You opened your mouth, fully prepared to argue, but the words disappeared the moment he stepped closer. The distance between you had never been particularly safe. It didn't matter how many months had passed or how accustomed you had become to his touch, there was still something unfair about Dean when he looked at you like that. The porch light cast a warm glow over his face, highlighting the familiar curve of his mouth. For a ridiculous moment, all you could think about was how many times you had kissed that mouth and how little you regretted any of them. Which was incredibly inconvenient considering you were trying to be angry.
“See?” he said quietly, clearly reading your thoughts far more easily than he should have been able to. “That doesn't look like hate to me”
“Oh, shut up”
His laughter immediately filled the space between you, low and warm and entirely too familiar. It was the kind of sound that had become dangerous over the past year because your body reacted to it before your brain could catch up. You hated that. You hated how easily he could make you laugh when you wanted to stay angry. You hated how comfortable it felt standing here with him while the party continued inside without either of you. Most of all, you hated how natural this had become.
A year ago, Dean had just been your brother's best friend. Now his jacket was draped over your shoulders, his hands were resting on your waist, and your first instinct after embarrassing yourself in front of an entire room had been to kiss him senseless.
“That's exactly the problem,” you muttered under your breath.
Dean frowned slightly,“What is?”
You shook your head and let it fall against his shoulder with a dramatic groan. “The fact that I should hate you after tonight and somehow you're still making me smile”
For a second neither of you spoke. You could hear the muffled music coming from inside the house and feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek. Then Dean's arm tightened around your waist, pulling you a little closer against him.
“Good,” he said simply.
You lifted your head enough to glare at him. “Good?”
“Yeah” The corner of his mouth curved upward as he looked down at you. “Because I'd be pretty offended if one stupid text was all it took to take you away from me”
“You're impossible,” you muttered instead, though there wasn't nearly as much conviction in your voice as there should have been.
Dean only hummed softly, as if he found your answer perfectly acceptable. As if being impossible was something he had accepted about himself a long time ago. The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement, but there was something else in his expression too, something quieter beneath the teasing confidence he wore so effortlessly. For a moment he simply looked at you, his gaze moving slowly over your face as though he was memorizing it. Then his hand lifted and his thumb brushed lightly along your jaw.
The touch was gentle. Dangerously gentle.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “But you love it”
Your breath caught somewhere in your throat. “Dean…”
You never got the chance to finish.
His lips met yours before the rest of the sentence could leave your mouth, stealing the argument before it had fully formed. The kiss wasn't rushed or demanding. It wasn't the desperate kind born from impatience. It felt almost unfairly confident, like he already knew exactly what effect he had on you. Like he knew every protest was doomed the moment he touched you.
The worst part was that he was right.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back, all the irritation and embarrassment from earlier slowly melting away beneath the warmth of his mouth. The memory of Garrett's interrogation, the laughter from the hockey team, the humiliation of reading that text aloud – none of it seemed nearly as important when Dean was standing this close.
When he finally pulled back, he barely moved away. His forehead remained close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin.
“Still hate me?” he asked quietly.
You narrowed your eyes in an attempt to glare at him, but the effort fell apart almost immediately.
“A little less,” you admitted. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself as you rose slightly onto your toes and brushed your nose against his. “You can try again, though. Maybe you'll have better luck this time”
The laugh that escaped him was warm and satisfied.
"Careful," he warned, voice low and rough against your ear. "You're giving me encouragement"
"Maybe you need it"
"Sweetheart," he murmured, and the word curled like smoke between you, "I definitely don't"
You barely had time to scoff before his mouth was on yours again and this time, there was nothing careful about it.
Dean laughed into the kiss, low and breathless, and pressed harder, as if he wanted to fold you into him entirely. You breathed into his mouth, a soft, yielding sound, and when your lips parted just slightly, he took the invitation without hesitation. His tongue swept in, slow at first, then deeper, more certain, and your hands found their way beneath his shirt without thought. Your nails dragged across the hard planes of his stomach, over the ridges of muscle, and he smiled against your lips.
His palm slid down your spine, over the curve of your waist, and settled firmly on the plush of your ass, squeezing with a possessiveness that sent a shiver straight through you. You moaned into his mouth, breath catching, and your fingers curled against his skin.
"Up," Dean muttered, and before you could register the shift, he had turned, lifted you with an ease that made your head spin, and set you down on the railing.
The wood was cool beneath your thighs. You squeaked in surprise, but the sound dissolved into something needier as you hooked your legs around his hips and pulled him closer until there was no space left between you.
His lips found your neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His teeth caught the thin strap of your dress, tugging it down your shoulder with agonizing slowness. You laughed feeling ticklish under his touch but it died the instant his mouth found the tender spot just behind your ear.
You moaned, your head falling back, giving him better access to you neck, your breath coming faster now. The tension inside you coiled tighter with every brush of his lips, every graze of his teeth, every shift of his body against yours. It was building, relentless, a pressure that bordered on unbearable.
Dean shifted between your thighs, rolling his hips against yours in a slow, deliberate motion, and you felt him hard and wanting, straining against the denim of his jeans. The heat of him seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, and your mind went hazy, thoughts scattering like smoke.
"I think…" you breathed, the words tumbling out between shaky inhales. "Fuck… Dean… I think we need to find a better place"
But he hadn't stopped. His lips were already tracing their way back up your jaw, brushing against the corner of your mouth, teasing. His hips kept rolling against your heat, making you feel dizzy but this time not from the alcohol but from Dean himself.
"One more minute, baby," he mumbled against your skin, and then he kissed you again, deep and consuming, and your brain went completely dark.
His lips were like a drug, something you couldn't leave and get enough of at the same time. Your hips bucked instinctively toward him, and he pressed forward in response, a low sound rumbling in his chest. You felt the damp heat of your own want soaking through, a mess you'd be embarrassed about later, but right now… right now, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
The only thing that existed was him. The weight of his hands. The warmth of his mouth. The way he said your name without saying it at all.
And you wanted him. That was all that mattered right now.
Dean's hand slid up your body, palm flattening against your chest, squeezing through the thin fabric of your dress. His fingers found your nipple through the layers, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until you gasped into his mouth. He smiled against your lips. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. His free hand gripped your thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and he hitched your leg higher around his hip. The movement opened you up, pressing your core against the ridge of his jeans, and you both groaned at the contact.
"Fuck," Dean breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and glistening. "You feel that? Feel what you do to me?"
You nodded, breathless, because you could. You could feel every inch of him straining against the denim, hard and wanting and so deliciously close.
His hips rolled against yours, slow and deliberate, and your head fell back with a moan. The railing dug into your thighs, the cool wood a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against you. Dean took advantage of your exposed throat, latching onto the pulse point that fluttered wildly beneath your skin. His teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you whimpered, nails raking down his back.
"Dean," you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
"Say it again," he growled against your neck, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers found the damp heat between your thighs, tracing you through the soaked fabric of your panties. "Say my name like that again"
"Dean," your hips rocked into his hand, desperate for more friction. "Please."
"Please what?" his voice was a dark murmur, his fingers pressing harder, circling your clit through the thin fabric. "Tell me what you want, sweetheart"
"You," your voice a broken whisper. "I want you, I want…"
His mouth cut you off with another kiss, swallowing your words as his fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric. He found you slick and ready, and the sound he made was almost reverent.
"So wet for me," he breathed against your lips. "This all for me?"
"Who else would it be for, you idiot?" you broke the kiss and looked at him irritatingly.
He laughed again, but it was strained, barely there, because his fingers were sliding through your folds, circling your clit with devastating precision. Your hips bucked into his hand, chasing the sensation, and he obliged, pressing harder, faster, until you were a trembling mess in his arms.
"That's it," he murmured, his forehead pressed to yours. "That's it, let go for me. I've got you"
The heat in your belly was growing, unbearable and intoxicating, spreading through you like wildfire. Dean's mouth captured your moans, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that mirrored the movement of his hand. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your hips rocking desperately against his fingers as the pressure built and built and built and….
"What the fuck?!" Garrett's voice cut through the haze like a bucket of ice water, and you jerked back so fast you nearly lost your balance on the railing.
Your heart slammed against your ribs as your eyes found him, standing in the threshold with Logan and Tucker. Garrett's face was a thundercloud, jaw tight, nostrils flared, the vein in his forehead doing that thing it only did when he was about three seconds from committing a felony.
Behind him, Logan had his hand clamped over his mouth, shoulders shaking, but he wasn’t impressed at all. Tucker wasn't even trying to hide it, he was laughing, full-bodied, tears-in-his-eyes laughing, the traitor.
“Fuck,” Dean’s hand quickly left your core, circling your body and pulling you closer. His head fell on your shoulder and you felt Dean's breath hot against your ear, low and steady despite the disaster behind his back. "On the count of three, we run"
You nodded, barely, your pulse hammering so loud you could barely hear yourself think.
One.
Dean's hands found your waist, lifting you down from the railing with a slowness that felt almost mocking given the circumstances. Your feet hit the floor. Garrett took a step forward, and you felt every muscle in your body tense. His face was stone. The kind of face that said I'm going to bury my best friend in the backyard and no one will ever find the body.
Logan wheezed behind him. Tucker whisper-shouted, "Oh my God, he's going to kill him"
Two.
Dean's fingers laced through yours, squeezing once – tight, reassuring, maybe a little apologetic. His palm was warm and solid, and you clung to it like a lifeline. Garrett was coming closer now, slow and deliberate, the way predators did before they pounced. His jaw worked like he was chewing glass.
"Dean," he said, and his voice was eerily calm. That was worse. That was so much worse. "I'm going to give you five seconds to explain why your hands were under my sister’s dress"
"Five seconds?" Dean called back, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "That's generous"
"Dean," you hissed.
Tucker lost it completely, doubling over and slapping the doorframe. Logan was crying now. Actual tears.
Three.
"Bye, G!" Dean shouted, and then he was running, dragging you with him, your feet barely finding purchase as you launched off the porch and into the night.
Garrett's roar echoed behind you. You didn't look back. The cold wind whipped your face, biting at your cheeks and tearing through your hair, but you couldn't stop laughing. Breathless, hysterical, giddy laughter that mixed with the pounding of your feet and the thunder of your heart. The party lights blurred behind you, growing smaller and smaller as you rounded the corner, the music fading into a distant thrum.
Dean didn't slow down. He pulled you into the shadows of someone's house, pressing you back against the rough brick wall, his body caging you in before you could even catch your breath. His mouth found yours and he kissed you like you hadn't just committed a crime against his friendship with your brother.
"Now he's actually going to kill you," you breathed against his lips, but your hands were already fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, because apparently you had zero survival instincts.
Dean pulled back just enough to look at you, and the sight of him almost undid you – hair wild, lips swollen, that stupid, goofy grin spreading across his face like he hadn't just made an enemy of his best friend for life. His nose brushed against your cheek, soft and tender in a way that felt almost ridiculous after the chaos.
"Worth it," he whispered, and his voice was so warm, so certain, that your chest ached with it.
Then he kissed you again, deeper this time, and you forgot entirely about Garrett, about the run, about the cold. Because God, it was worth it. Every single, reckless, disastrous second of it.
thankx for reading <3
I've been rereading and editing this work for two days now, so I really hope it's alright and doesn't contain too many spelling or grammar mistakes. also, I haven't actually read the book, so my perspective on every character is mostly based on the vibe I got from the tv show. and if anything feels off, that's probably why. I hope you enjoy it anyway!
alright, I'm off to sleep and take a little break. I'll be happy to wake up to any dean requests in my inbox! as usual, comments and messages are always welcome. your words keep me going, even when I really should be sleeping. so please, let me know what you think of this one. it means the world to me :3
tags: tattoo artist reader, first time tattoos, meet cute, POV third person, no use of y/n for reader-insert, fluff, mention of domestic abuse and past trauma
word count: 3.6k
summary: Garrett’s just been made captain, and he wants to celebrate by getting something a little permanent. He’s unprepared by how beautiful his tattoo artist is. (or the story behind garrett's iconic tattoo)
notes: cross-posted on ao3 ; title from lucy dacus’ “thumbs,” which is very garrett coded if anyone wants to listen; tysm for the love on habit lines ! i’m currently working on part two of it, but it’s been evading me a little. this one came to me and i just couldn’t not write it. already have ideas for other parts. let me know if you guys are interested !! i'm also open for requests!! ; banner by @pixopix
p.s i don’t go into too much details of how the reader looks, but i definitely have simone ashley specifically in this picture in mind when i wrote this (just bc i have a huge crush on her lmao)
Garrett gets the tattoo the summer after his sophomore year at Briar.
They had just dominated the frozen four and he just became the highest scorer of the season. He’s been made captain. The name stretched on the back of his jersey felt as insignificant as the DNA running through his veins. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had accomplished something that his father couldn’t touch. Because Phil Graham might be this hockey legend everyone keeps comparing him with. He might pretend to be a father. He might be the man haunting his worst memories. But he wasn’t the one skating suicides every single day. He wasn’t the one training until he bled. He wasn’t the one who won Briar their last game of the season. He’s just a name. Garrett worked hard for what he’d done and not even Phil can take that away from him.
So he decides to commemorate the occasion. Something permanent, because he needs a little permanence in his life. Something to ground him whenever his dad’s voice gets too loud in his head. To remind him that he earned his place.
He sees the phrase randomly while looking up designs on his phone during his Lit lecture, thumb bitten raw and foot tapping on the floor.
Nullum Gratuitum Prandium.
He pauses in his seat, foot hovering the air mid-tap.
There is no free lunch.
Fighting back a grin, Garrett saves the phrase on his notes app and switches his phone off, finally paying attention to his professor drone on about Hamlet.
The tattoo shop is just a ten-minute drive from campus. It’s owned by three Briar U Fine Arts alumni, and the artists are mostly students from the same department looking for extra cash. Garrett spends a whole week stalking their Instagram, repeatedly going to the story highlights they have on their page dedicated to each of their artists. He fixates on one in particular; the tattoo artist’s designs are mostly florals and classical figures, intricate fine lines, shadings, and delicate designs that make his eyebrows raise, impressed at the skill level evident through the pieces.
But there’s one highlight that catches his eye: it’s a back piece with a handwritten script covering the client’s entire back. Underneath the tattoo are scars; some light and faded, some ugly and dark and raised on the skin. The text is a diary entry complete with the date on the upper right portion, a confession of being a victim of domestic abuse and a promise to oneself that they’re going to make it out.
Reading it makes a lump appear in Garrett’s throat.
His dad never left scars. Not physical ones, anyways. They’re harder to explain than the bruises, because those can be excused away by hockey.
His thumb presses on his phone screen, holding down so the image of the tattoo doesn’t go away. He’d never be as brave as the guy who got the back piece. But Garrett books an appointment with that artist, anyway, because sometimes pretending is enough.
He goes to the shop on a weeknight after practice, freshly showered and wearing his Briar U Hockey hoodie and sweats. The place is so small upon entrance, he could probably spread his arms and touch both ends of the walls. There’s the counter facing the glass door, walls littered with drawings, neon light-up signs, other artworks, and stairs leading to the second floor.
He gives his name and tries not to show his nerves too much, but the lady at the counter sees right through him. “First time?”
He considers lying for a second, but that would make him feel more pathetic, so instead he mumbles out a “yes,” with the tips of his ears burning.
The lady chuckles. Tattoos cover both her arm sleeves, multicolored and intentional. She’s probably in her late 30s, but the bleached hair and eyebrow piercings make her more youthful. She double checks his booking and hums at what she sees on the computer. “Well, you’re in good hands. You picked one of our best artists.”
“Really?” Garrett asks, trying not to feel too proud of himself yet.
“Yup,” she confirms, handing him a slip of paper. “You can go on up. She’s ready for you.”
The stairs are concrete and steep, covered in graffiti and stickers. Garrett rarely finds himself in situations where he feels uncool, but inside the shop with all the art and the cool music playing on the speakers, clad in his Briar U get up, he’s aware of how out of place he looks.
The second floor is more spacious. It’s open-plan, with tattoo beds spread out across the floor organically. Only two clients occupy the space, one getting a piece on his thigh and the other getting one on her rib. They chat among themselves, quiet and familiar, giving him the impression that they’re regulars.
“Garrett?” A voice calls his name, causing him to turn around. What he sees makes his throat dry up.
She’s tall. Probably only a couple inches shorter than his 6’2 frame. Long black hair, strong jaw, dark glowing skin. She’s wearing a black tank top that shows off an intricate dragon tattoo running from the top of her shoulder down to the back of her upper arm. She’s the most beautiful woman Garrett has ever seen.
“Uh–what?” He says unintelligently.
Her lips twitch like she’s trying to hold back a smile. “You’re Garrett, right?”
He has enough sense to nod, swallowing thickly. “Yes.”
“Cool,” she says, lips still doing that twitchy thing that makes it a hundred times difficult for him not to look down at it. “I’m the artist you booked. You wanna pick a bed?”
The words almost short-circuit his brain, but he manages to maintain his cool with a clear of his throat. He points to the one nearest to the both of them. “Here’s fine.”
She gestures for him to sit down, which he does diligently. She goes over to one side of the room to get a metal cart of what he assumes are her tattoo stuff, pushing it until it’s right in front of the leather stool beside the tattoo bed. “So what do you have in mind for tonight?”
He clears his throat again, only because it still feels dry enough that if he tries to speak, he’s afraid his voice will crack. He takes out his phone from his pocket and opens up his notes app. “I don’t have, like, a final design yet but I have the phrase I want.”
Garrett tilts the phone towards her to let her look. She walks closer until she’s slightly behind him, then crouches over his shoulder to take a look at his phone. In the back of his mind, he registers her scent; something woodsy and floral that sends heat down his stomach.
“Is that Latin?” She asks, voice quiet now with their proximity. Garrett makes the mistake of looking up at her. Her eyes are slightly narrowed, lips pursed as if she’s already picturing a design in her head that she can’t wait to put on his skin. Her eyes dart towards him. “What does it mean?”
He gulps. “Well, the direct translation is ‘there is no free lunch,’ which to me basically means—you know. Everything in life is earned.”
Her eyebrows shoot up at that. He doesn’t miss the way she looks down at his hockey shirt, the car keys peeking out from the pocket of his sweats. He’s used to that; the quick write off as a rich, entitled, nepo baby. It’s a look he’s been getting his entire life. So he’s not sure why getting the same perusal from her, a random tattoo artist he didn’t know, bothers him enough that he feels untethered in his skin.
“I like it,” she finally says, shooting him a small, knowing smile. She straightens up, dusting her hands on her jeans. “So what are we thinking? Bicep? Chest?”
Garrett scratches the back of his neck. “I was thinking my back, actually.”
“Oh?” Her tone is enough to get the tips of his ears red again. “Is this not your first time?”
He rolls his eyes at that, finally feeling somewhat back in his body. “Why does everyone keep asking that?”
She smiles bigger, which does nothing to tame the zoo forming inside his stomach. “Nothing, just—bold choice. I’m liking it even more now.” She pulls up her ipad from the cart and starts messing around with it. “I already have a few ideas if you’re willing to hear me out. Nothing too artsy. Something a little utilitarian, yeah? Since the phrase is essentially a sports mantra. Are you thinking lower back or upper?”
Garrett thinks about it for a second. “I don’t really know. Depends on the design, maybe.”
“Got you,” she tells him with a nod, still busy with her ipad. “So why get a tattoo now, if you don’t mind me being nosy?”
He leans back against the leather tattoo bed, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. Even the light fixtures are funky and ununiform, adding to the overall chaotic yet artistic vibe of the shop. Something about the low buzzing of the tattoo guns, the artwork, and how removed from his normal life the place is makes it easy for the truth to slide from his lips. “As a reward, mostly. I’ve busted my ass off the past two years training and winning games and for the first time, I finally feel like I’m worth more than the name on the back of my jersey.”
The words feel too honest and raw, especially spoken to a stranger. But there’s that feeling of weight being lifted from his chest, too, for being able to say them out loud without being scathed.
“You just gave me an idea,” she tells him, voice going up in barely contained excitement. She takes a few minutes, and then she’s tapping his shoulder and handing the ipad over to him.
He sits up straight and takes it from her hands. The design is simple—utilitarian lettering, like she said, curved in a semi arch.
“I was thinking if we put it right here—“ her fingers reach out to trace over his upper back, making Garrett jolt in place. “—and curved like that, it could be placed right underneath where your name on your jersey usually is. That way, you’d know that behind the name, your mantra’s always going to be there, reminding you that you’ve earned your keep.”
Garrett sits there in silence for a few seconds, lips slightly parted and staring up at her in surprise. This beautiful stranger who weirdly understood him completely.
“So?” She asks, waiting for him to speak.
He feels another tug at his stomach. “Let’s do it.”
“Cool,” she grins down at him. Her eyes flicker to his shirt again. “You can fold your shirt and place it on the bottom tray of the cart while I get the stencil ready. Surface is clean, I promise.”
Right. A back tattoo meant he had to be shirtless. Which is fine. He’s shirtless more hours of the day than he’s not. Garrett’s never been self-conscious about his body–growing up being forced to work out and go to practice and chug down protein shakes does that to a person. He knows he looks good; better than the average college student who goes to the gym occasionally, anyway. His abs are well-defined, his chest and shoulders broad, his arms even bigger. Muscular in a meaty way, because lean gets you thrown easily to the boards of the rink. Still, when he hoists his shirt up and over his head and hears his tattoo artist suck in a breath at the sight of him, a warm feeling begins to bloom in his chest. Warmth and proud and smug and a little shy, too.
He looks at her with his eyebrows slightly raised, a smile threatening to tug his lips up. She meets his eyes defiantly, like she doesn’t care that he caught her looking. The stubbornness makes another animal kick inside his belly.
“On your stomach, please,” she gestures at him with a finger. “I’m going to wash the area with green soap first just to make sure your skin’s clean. I might have to shave it, too, but from the looks of it your hairs are thin on your back, anyway, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Garrett stays quiet, his cheek resting on his folded arms. The second her gloved hands touch the skin of his back, his fists clench tightly. He’s only grateful he had enough self-control not to jump this time. They spend a few minutes like that, her cleaning and shaving his back with careful hands while he tries to pull himself together.
He’s been around plenty of beautiful women in his twenty years of existence, but something about her gets to him. Maybe it’s the way she holds herself with such sureness; the stubborn tilt to her chin, the dragon tattoo, the casual display of talent. Maybe it’s the way she reads him like a book. Either way, Garrett has to fight to keep his breathing normal around her.
She applies the stencil thoroughly, eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. After she’s done, she gives his back a tap. “Go ahead and look at it in the mirror for me. See if you like it. We can adjust the font size or the placement, but in my opinion it looks pretty sick already.”
Garrett does as he’s told. The mirror on the wall is huge and slightly rusted at the edges with lots of stickers littered around the surface. He turns to look at his back and feels his throat tighten up.
She must see something in his face, because she smiles at him softly and says, “Good?”
Garrett looks at the stencil for a second. Not permanent yet, but it’s getting there.
“Yeah,” he coughs, clenching his jaw. “I love it.”
The first press of the inked needle on his skin makes him jump embarrassingly. She laughs at that, muttering “you good?” but otherwise continuing with her job. Because she’s a professional. This is her job. Garrett repeats the words in his head enough times for them to stick.
“You have a lot of bruises,” she says after a few silent minutes of just the tattoo gun buzzing in the air.
The sentence makes him smother a smile. “Yeah. Hockey.”
“I figured,” she counters with a short chuckle. “I heard you guys won your last game. Congratulations.”
Somehow, the fact that he or even just his team had been on her radar enough for her to know that sends a thrill down his spine, something more pressing than the needles. “You like hockey?”
“No,” she says immediately, unashamedly. “But everyone on campus seemingly does. I just hear things.”
So she’s a student. Garrett carefully files this information in his brain, because he’s being totally normal. “What year are you in?”
“About to be a junior,” she hums. The tattoo gun goes over a sensitive spot that has him hissing, and one of her hands squeeze at his shoulder to soothe him. “Shit. Sorry. You okay?”
“Fine,” he manages to grit out, skin stinging more from the squeeze than the needles. “And same. So are you in Fine Arts?”
“Technically,” she answers, wiping at something on his back. “My major’s Art History, but we don’t really get to whip out our sketchbooks that often as much as we do thick dusty books, so.”
Art History. There’s an overlap there that Garrett has to warn his mind not to fixate on. They may very well be in the same classes. Maybe they already were at one point and he just didn’t notice. But that scenario felt unrealistic; he’s sure that if he’d seen her in one of his classes, he would have noticed her. It would be impossible not to.
“You’re really good,” he finds himself saying instead, voice low and steady. “I saw your designs on Instagram. That’s what made me choose this shop, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Garrett answers honestly. The repeated poking on the skin of his back is more tolerable now; she’s settled on a rhythm that almost lulls him to a state of vulnerability. Like they’ve entered an alternate reality where anything he says won’t have consequences in the real world. “I saw that piece you did. The diary entry.”
He feels her falter for a few seconds. Just a blip, but he senses it all the same. When she speaks, her voice is more careful, a little guarded, and Garrett finds himself hating it. “Did you?”
“It was so vulnerable,” Garrett scrunches his eyebrows together, trying to find the right words. “So–I don’t know. Raw. Brave. I want to be like that.”
He doesn’t say anything compromising, even with the loaded words. He doesn’t reveal anything about himself or his trauma that will come back to get him in trouble. But one of her hands travel to his shoulder again. Not quite squeezing. Just hovering there. The almost-contact brings him a relief he’s not sure he’s ready to decipher yet. “I think this is a great start.”
“Yeah?” It’s his turn to ask, moving his head slightly to try and take a look at her.
“Don’t move,” she scolds instantly, making a grin form on his face. “But yes. No lunch is free, right? You earned this.”
Garrett feels a pang in his chest. “That’s right. I did.”
It’s over before he can even begin to comprehend whatever it is he’s feeling. One minute he’s lying there on his chest, eyes halfway closed and heart beating stupidly fast, and the next she’s wiping his back with an antiseptic wipe and saying, “all done.”
“Already?” He can’t help but ask, bracing his arms to the tattoo bed to pull himself up. “Can I see?”
She stands from the stool, an almost fond smile on her face. She’s so beautiful Garrett has to pinch himself to stop staring at her. “Go ahead. Hope you don’t hate it.”
The first thing he notices is how red his skin is. Slightly swollen, the tattoo visibly raised from the surface. And then it finally sinks in: he did it. The words are dark in contrast with his tanned complexion, curved neatly and filled with meaning. “Holy shit.”
“That a good holy shit or a bad one?” She teases from behind him, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her hip popped to one side. She’s removed her gloves, long fingers waving on the skin of her arm. She’s still smiling at him like she’s proud of him, and it makes something stupid settle in Garrett’s chest.
“It’s perfect,” his voice comes out gruff and a little too emotional to not be embarrassing, but that only serves to make her grin wider.
She goes over all the cleaning and healing process, having him repeat after her just to be sure, which makes him feel a little bit like a kid in class who has a big fat crush on his teacher. She gives him a couple pamphlets, a business card, and a sachet of complimentary aftercare ointment, all of which he takes with careful, ready hands.
“That’s basically it,” she finishes with a clap of her hands. “Come back or call us if something goes wrong, though hopefully that doesn’t happen.”
Finally seeing an in, he flashes a small grin at her. “And if I just want to come back anyway?”
“For another tattoo?” She asks, though her eyes are shining like she sees exactly where he’s going with this.
Garrett shrugs, all faux innocence. “Maybe.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Garrett’s a little too proud at getting any reaction from her at all. “Goodbye, Garrett Graham.”
“Wait, you know who I am?” He suddenly asks, taken aback at the mention of his full name which he didn’t remember giving when he booked the appointment.
She shrugs. “Like I said. A lot of people around here love hockey and I hear things. Captain.”
“You know who I am,” he repeats, a slow smile beginning to form on his face, smug and confident and more reminiscent of the Garrett that he usually is.
“Oh my god,” she laughs, pointing down the stairs. “Goodbye.”
He’s still chuckling when he goes down, bidding a goodbye to the lady at the counter and ignoring the knowing look she gives him. His smile feels like a permanent fixture on his face, though he doesn’t realize it until he’s arrived at home and met the curious looks of his friends.
“The hell’s got you so happy?” Dean asks, giving him a weird look.
Garrett pauses by the door in surprise. “Huh?”
“You’re smiling, like, creepily widely, G,” Logan adds before turning back to the TV to the game they’re playing.
Garrett scoffs. “No, I’m not.”
But even as he says it, he feels his lips split his face open, the traitor.
He doesn’t tell them about the tattoo. Not yet. Something about it feels intimate, somehow, the idea that only he and the gorgeous tattoo artist know about the piece branded on his back. It makes him want to keep it to himself for a little while. Get used to the permanence first before letting other people take a peek at it.
He shoves a hand to his pocket and pulls out the aftercare ointment she gave him for free and feels his smile get even bigger.
Yep. He’s going to need to book that appointment soon.
a/n: this AU is genuinely one of my favorite things ever ughhh. they have me wrapped around their fictional fingers. 💗.
summary: in which your study session is disrupted and you end up having to save the day at the grocery store
The task you’d sent the boys out to do was simple, structured and outlined. The grocery list you’d written out was color coded, written with different types of pens so as to make the distinction more visible, and your handwriting was perfectly legible.
Buried in between textbooks and lab work because of midterms, you had no time to go on a store run and buy everything the house needed and after careful consideration, you decided it was safe to pawn the task off to your boyfriend and roommates. The problem was, they were basically all muscle and no brains when it came to cooking.
You’d had to brief all of them, except for Tucker –who had to study as well, on how to distinguish romaine from arugula and cucumber from zucchini.
So, despite the tingle of worry you felt anytime the boys went away together to do anything, you were fairly calm. After all, it was a trip to the grocery store, not a military mission, and they were old enough to manage on their own. Or so you thought.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
At Whole Foods, things weren’t going as planned.
“Dean, I knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t know you’d be dumb enough to lose the fucking list!” Garrett exclaimed, rubbing his temples.
“What do you want me to say, G? It’s windy outside!” Dean countered, extending his arms to his sides.
“We’re in the middle of a heat wave, dumbass,” said Logan, groaning in frustration.
“I’m sure we’ll figure something out. How hard can it be, right?” Garrett claimed, and the rest of the boys nodded along in unison.
Apparently, it was very hard. Standing in the middle of the produce aisle, the trio looked like fish out of the water. The same brains that could visualize game strategy had now decided to be fully unable to remember a single thing that was on the list. They were completely lost.
“She uses kale in that delicious salad with those white nuts and lemon, right?” Logan asked, pointing at the fresh kale in the vegetable section.
“Do you think we know?” Dean joked, raising his brows “Just put it in the cart, we can’t go back home empty handed, or we’re so dead”
Logan agreed, putting a couple of heads of kale in the shopping cart, also throwing various other types of random lettuce that ‘looked the part’ in there. According to Garrett, if it was green, it should go in.
“Yo, is that the snack aisle?” Garrett asked, his head staring intently at the chip bags he could see from afar.
“We shouldn't," said Dean, a conflicted expression plastered on his face.
“It’ll just be a quick look, D. We’ll be in, and then out just as fast,” swore Logan, who was already strolling toward the aisle.
It was in fact, not a quick look. The boys somehow managed to fill a cart up with almost every type of chip Whole Foods sold, from regular to shrimp cocktail and dill pickle. Dean announced that they obviously needed another cart, and the other two agreed.
That one ended up full with tubs of ranch, pancake mix, sour candy and cotton candy. Logan threw some cottage cheese in, for what he claimed was ‘health value’. The poor cart looked like it was going to explode if the boys attempted to put one more cereal box inside of it.
In the search for some fresh brownies, not just protein whole wheat high fiber mixes of them, the boys passed the produce section again, and realised what they’d actually come to the grocery store to do.
“Guys, we have spent thirty fucking minutes putting junk food in our carts, which look like we’ve played tetris with just so we could fit more candy in them. We’re literally gonna get murdered tonight if we show up with all of this home. I’m calling it, we’re all dead by the morning,” Dean said, his eyes glued to the packed carts.
“We need to call in reinforcements,” Logan said, pulling out his phone.
“Do you think Tucker’s gonna come?” Garrett asked, shoving his hands inside of his pockets.
“I think there’s no universe in which he’d miss this”
After what the boys considered to be the largest stretch of mental pain they’d ever gone through, Tucker entered the grocery store through the automated doors and immediately burst out laughing once he saw the other three.
“I knew you guys were dependent on us to do the kitchen tasks, but oh wow. This is just something else. Two carts full of shit. Dare I say it’s even impressive,” Tucker remarked in between bursts of laughter.
Logan, Garrett and Dean looked at him with blank expressions on their faces, which made the whole ordeal even funnier to Tucker.
“We need your help, man. And she cannot find out about this, under any circumstance,” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Dean, I am not lying to your girlfriend. I physically cannot. I’m afraid you’ll have to confess if you want my help, and hers,” said Tucker, patting Dean on the shoulder, as if that was gonna lessen the blow.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You were dressed in sweats and Dean’s hockey jersey, which you swore helped you concentrate better. The habit totally had nothing to do with the fact that you missed being around him at all times during exam week. Totally. There were multiple books spread over the table, and flashcards were plastered on the wall in front of you.
The only sounds in the house were the hum of the fridge and the clacking of the keyboard keys being pressed. That was until a very loud ring disrupted the atmosphere, shattering it swiftly. You ran to your phone, which you’d locked in another room so you could stop yourself from endlessly scrolling and procrastinating. After almost tripping over two pucks, you reached it.
An all too familiar face shone in the screen, with the name ‘Baby 🤍’ over it. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile and pick up the facetime call.
“Everything okay over there, baby?” you asked, taking note of Dean’s faint expression.
“Well… We’ve run into some complications,” he said, his face shifting into a grimace.
You raised your eyebrows and pinched your nose, unable to restrain yourself. “What did you guys do?”
After some hushed whispers, the camera panned over to Tucker’s annoyed face.
“Your boyfriend is being an absolute coward, give him a minute,” said Tucker, rolling his eyes in feigned frustration, which made you chuckle.
Tucker quickly came to the realization that Dean wasn’t going to say anything if he didn’t do it out of force, so he saw no other option than to flip the camera and show you the details of the situation.
Your jaw dropped so hard you swore it could’ve hit the floor at any second. The only thing you saw was two carts, full to the brim with snacks and sweets, and Logan and Garrett staring dreamily at all of the different variations of chocolate chip cookies.
“Baby... What did you do with the list?” you asked Dean, pursing your lips in an attempt to hold back the smile that threatened to invade your mouth.
“That’s what I was about to tell you, the list was stolen,” he replied, taking the phone back from Tucker.
“Stolen? Enlighten me, please,” you said, raising your eyebrows.
“Well, the wind took it from my hands as we entered the store, it was very rude, actually”
The excuse was so ridiculous you couldn’t stop yourself from huffing. “Dean, the list was color coded!”
“I know, babydoll. But nature can be very mean sometimes,” Dean pointed out, which made the boys laugh in the background.
“So instead of thinking back to the meals I’ve been making for you, you decided it was best to go on a free for all in the snack and sweets aisle?” you echoed, dumbfounded.
“We panicked!” yelled Logan, who turned around to face the camera “We saw no other way out”
“Babe, we need you. Garrett has been staring at chocolate-covered peanut butter cups like they’re the love of his life, Logan is trying to persuade us into buying really expensive energy drinks and Tucker is just laughing his ass off,” Dean pleaded.
Although you knew the textbooks were waiting for you in the other room, you were due for a break anyways, or the rest of your studying would just be completely unproductive. You sighed, staring at the wall for a couple of seconds.
“Fine. Do not, and I repeat, do not put anything else in the carts until I get there. I’ll be there in ten”
“Why ten? The store is only five minutes away,” Dean said, which made the corners of your lips turn up into a smile.
“I gotta feed Gretzky first, or else I’ll forget”
“We are having a crisis, and you’re going to feed our sourdough starter first?”
“Do not say another word or else you’ll be on a bread ban for the next three months,” you pointed a finger at the camera.
“Yes ma’am,” nodded Dean.
“Oh, and keep the jersey on, babydoll. You look good,” he teased, his lips turning into that signature smirk that made your knees weak.
You rolled your eyes, defeatedly laughed, and grabbed your car keys.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
As soon as you were in Dean’s line of sight, he ran towards you and pressed a deep kiss to your temple, lifting you up in the air. His face lit up at the mere sight of you, and you couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he grinned, taking your hand.
“Oh I know, believe me,” you chuckled.
Garrett, Tucker and Logan were standing beside the fresh bakery section, practically the spotlights of the store. Six foot something athletes were hard to miss in the middle of a Whole Foods this late.
“Okay, boys. Empty the carts, we’re starting over”
The boys echoed a collective groan, but they started emptying the carts nonetheless. No one would’ve guessed they were extremely disciplined men as they put back the chip bags and candy containers to their designated shelves with a big pout on their faces.
By the time you reached the wavy chip section, Dean’s favorite type of chip, he started getting a little too touchy. His hands slipped swiftly to your waist, pulling you against his chest in order to suggestively kiss your jawline every minute or so.
“Di Laurentis, are you trying to distract me to grab a snack without me noticing?” you questioned, putting your hands on his chest.
“Maybe…” Dean said, and you heard the sound of a bag of chips getting placed on the shelf again.
You rolled your eyes but kept walking along, headed for the produce section. The clash between the two felt distinct, and you felt in your zone again. Your love from cooking dripped from your expression, as you stared at all of the different fresh products available. Meal ideas came to your head left and right, but you kept your mind on the mission.
“I hope you paid attention to the lecture I gave you on Thursday, because it’s pop quiz time, boys!” you cheered, staring at their worried faces.
You grabbed some parsley with your left hand, and some cilantro in your right. “I’ll give the person who can tell which herb is cilantro five dollars”
“That’s not fair, Tucker is going to get it right!” Logan whined, claiming injustice.
“This isn’t a trick question, right? Because they look exactly the same,” said Garrett, squinting to see if he could spot a difference.
Tucker ended up getting it right, and you handed over a five dollar bill accordingly.
“Baby, please go grab some Meyer lemons from that corner over there?” you asked Dean while sorting through some packs of arugula to find the one that was just right.
“Isn’t a lemon just a lemon, babydoll?”
“Just read the damn display signs, it’ll take you ten seconds, or you could choose the bread ban,” you reminded, and Dean started sprinting towards the lemons.
The protein and carbs cart was full of greek yogurt tubs, packs of chicken breast and lean ground beef, egg whites, sweet potatoes, quinoa and brown rice. Surprisingly, brown rice was a big hit in the hockey house, with the boys eating heaps of it in a heartbeat.
The other cart was full of veggies and healthy fat sources, such as spinach, kale, bell peppers and avocados. You were reluctant to buy the latter, because Dean always used it as an excuse to ask for homemade nachos and guacamole, which you could never refuse to make.
Once you were satisfied with every item you were going to purchase, you took a detour on the way to the checkout stations which led you to the snack aisle again.
“Even if you guys completely messed up the first time around, you’ve actually done a great job now. So, you deserve to get a little treat. Go ahead, pick one thing you want,” you announced, and watched as the boys’ grins grew wider.
What you did not expect was for them to debate which snack to get so seriously.
“We should definitely get cosmic brownies,” Logan said, pointing to them.
“Oh absolutely not. I vote for salt and vinegar chips,” argued Garrett, who was about to grab the bag.
“You guys are picking chips and brownies. This may be our only junk this month, dream big boys. Give me the fucking five layer tiramisu from the bakery section or something,” said Dean.
Tucker just looked at you incredulously, and you couldn’t bite back your laughter. Out of all of the things they could be having a big debate about, they chose to do it over a sweet treat. If only they put this much effort into their actual schoolwork, they’d graduate in the honor roll.
After the boys picked out a treat and you checked out, you noticed your brain was as clear as the sky on a summer day. Maybe this had been the break you needed after all.
Heyy!! I cant stop thinking about being besties with the guys while dating Dean. Like imagine youre reading on the couch and they come back home all sweaty and Dean rushes up to you but before he could get to you youre already hiding behind the guys asking them to protect you from your sweaty and sticky boyfriend. And Dean gets super pouty and defensive
lol loovvee this! i think they'd be your number one defenders of dean's purposely annoying antics.
hockey sandwich
"Daddy's home!" Dean shouted as he entered the Hawk's House like a bomb going off, the front door bouncing off the wall behind it.
You sat up from your slumped position on the couch, marking your spot in your book. You peered over the top of the couch, "How was your workout?"
Dean was shirtless, which was not something that was uncommon for the blonde. He grinned at you, pushing back his honey locks with one hand.
"Great. I showed these guys what it mean to really push it." Dean bragged, grabbing your water bottle from the coffee table and taking a slug.
Garrett rolled his eyes, not impressed by his friends claims at all. "You sat out every 20 minutes to scroll on Tik Tok."
Logan and Tucker followed, subtly laughing at the banter between the two.
Dean swallowed his large mouthful of water, pointing at Logan defensively. "Yeah, but I gave it 110% when I wasn't."
Dean turned to you, stretching his arms out and letting out a giant groan. "God, I'm beat. If only there was a gorgeous, lady shaped pillow that I can lay on." He pretended to scan the room before his blue eyes settled on you dramatically. "Oh wow! Just what I was looking for!"
Before he could fall on top of you, you pressed your sock clad foot to his lower abs, stopping him. You crinkle your nose in disgust, "I can smell you from here."
Dean gasped, holding your ankle and running his thumb over the skin affectionately. "You wound me. My own girlfriend unwilling to handle a little stink for the sake of love."
Logan came trudging over, plopping on the couch near you. He was equally exhausted and sweaty, holding out his arms to Dean. "Come here, baby. I'll take care of you." He mocked, making kissy noises at Dean and beckoning him forward.
You laughed, gesturing to Logan. "I think you might have a taker, Daddy Dean."
Dean rolled his eyes, a smile cracking his face. "I'm good-"
Tucker's own arms shot out pushing Dean onto Logan's awaiting body, his own sandwiching Dean between the two hockey player. Dean let out a groan of discomfort, his feet kicking playfully.
Logan groaned out from the bottom of the pile. "Yup, this is what I wanted."
Tucker laughed at his friends, but before he could get too cocky, the giant body of Garrett Graham fell on top of him. The three other groaned dramatically and couch let out a creak.
Garrett turned his face to you, "This is nice."
You sat there, laughing uncontrollably at the sandwich of hockey players next to you, thankful to have been spared from the sweaty dog pile.
can your do a john logan x female reader based of gracie abrams song tough love PLEASE 🙏✨✨
I love Gracie! I'm not sure if this is the direction you wanted, but this is the scenario I built in my head lol
As Oscar Wilde once said, “Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes.”
Tonight, you were really beginning to understand this quote. The night was a total bust. You were bored out of your skull, watching the lacrosse guy that asked you out play his fifth round of beer pong. When he asked you out in the quad you didn’t realize this would be the date.
The disappointment from this joke of a date started early in the evening. Not only did Mr. Lacrosse, Josh, did not open the car door but his grand compliment was a slimy once over of your figure and smug, “You look hot.”
While Allie had dressed you in a cute skirt and top with heels that matched your purse, Josh was in a baseball cap, gym shorts and Briar Lacrosse hoodie. You should have tucked and rolled right out of the car.
The party was horrifically boring. You knew virtually no one, not really one to hang out with lacrosse guys. Hockey was more of your scene and you thought about your friends the entire time. As far as you knew, it was a dull Wednesday night for your friend group. Hannah and Garrett were on a date and Logan, Dean, and Tucker were likely hanging around the house. Despite this, you would rather watch the three boys suck at their hockey video game a thousand times over than watch Josh lose at beer pong.
As the round finished up, Josh planted himself on the outdoor couch next to you. He threw his arm around you, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “You wanna get out of here?”
You snorted, finding his confidence to be infuriating. “And go where?”
Josh smirked, obviously not reading your tone in his tipsy state. “My frat has a great hot tub,” He placed a hand on your knee and your skin crawled. “Never fucked in it before.”
This made you laugh loudly, mockingly. Groups of people looked back at you, confused and a bit annoyed at your outburst. Josh jumped away, his face twisting up.
“Absolutely not.” You stated firmly, patting his shoulder dismissively.
“Whatever,” He spat out, standing up. As he walked away he mumbled, “Hockey slut.”
This made you scoff, rolling your eyes. You pulled out your phone, tapping your away to the contact you needed with a second thought.
John Logan picked up on the first ring, the sound of their favorite hockey game blaring in the background. “What’s up, kid.”
You sucked in a breath, walking towards the nearest bathroom and locking the door behind you. Hearing Logan’s voice made your anger melt into sadness, hot tears pricking the back of your eyes. “Logan?”
The shake in your voice made him freeze like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. He quickly paused the game, ignoring the protests of Tucker and Dean. “You okay? Where are you?”
You wiped away a tear angrily, “At some stupid lacrosse party on Greek Row. I need you to come get me.”
“On my way. Wait outside. Don’t talk to anyone.” Logan remarked, already back out of the Hawk’s House driveway. He didn’t even question why you were at a lacrosse frat party. It was your scene at all, but he didn’t pry.
You bit your lip, exiting the bathroom to stand by the mailbox of the house. Within a few minutes, Logan’s truck came rumbling down the street. He pulled up next to you, hopping out of his truck before you could even push off the mailbox to approach the truck.
“What happened?” Logan asked, approaching you like you were a nervous deer.
You ducked your head, letting out a low sob and tucking your head into his chest. “I hate lacrosse players.”
Logan wrapped his strong arms around you, not questioning your statement. He also hated lacrosse players, so he didn’t need much of an explanation. He would ask for details later. He kissed the top of your head, feeling the shakes of your body.
“Let’s get you home, kid.” Logan whispered.
You nodded, letting Logan guide you towards the passenger side of his truck. He yanked the door open, gesturing for you to take a seat. You smiled at him. This was how you expected your night to go. You expected the princess treatment, but why? As Logan stood there, your knight in shining armor, you understood why.
“Logan,” You blurted out. He raised a brow, urging you to speak. “You’re a great guy.”
Logan smiled softly at your words. “And you’re a great girl.”
You shook your head, wanting him to really hear you. “No, like, you’re wonderful. Perfect, really. That lacrosse is probably someone’s perfect date, but I could never accept that bare minimum bullshit because of you.”
Logan examined your face, noting how sincere your words are. “You deserve way more than the bare minimum.”
Without second guessing yourself, you grabbed the lapels of his jacket. You pulled him forward, pressing your lips to his own. He was frozen for a moment, unsure if this was real or just a realistic dream. Was he going to wait up covered in sweat with a hard on and a large amount of guilt like the last time he dreamt of you? The warmth of your lips and wafting of your shampoo brought him back to reality. This was real. With that, Logan’s hand sprung up to hold your face, deepening the kiss.
You pulled back once your lungs began to scream for air. Your foreheads pressed together, your eyes unwavering from the other. Logan broke first, grinning and pulling you into a hug. You returned it, not wanting him to let you go.
“Can we go back to the Hawk House?” You asked, “I want to watch you and the boys play that ice hockey game you guys are into.”
Logan pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Weird, but okay.”
2.) “You lost the baby.” “It’s a fake baby.” “That’s not the point!”
Dean Di Laurentis x Reader
When you signed up for Introduction to Child Development to fulfill a specific credit requirement you thought it would be an easy grade. At least that’s what everyone said, so naturally when your boyfriend needed the same specific credit requirement you’d convinced him to take the class with you.
“I thought you said this was going to be easy.” Dean whispers. You stare at the fake plastics babies at the front of the class.
“Apparently, I was lied to.” You say under your breath.
“I’ll give you the luxury of choosing your own partner, considering that’s generally how it works in procreation.” The professor says. A weak wave of laughter rolls through the classroom. Dean grabs your chair pulling you closer to him, if that’s even possible.
“Got my baby mama!” He announces to the class.
The first few days aren’t so bad, your fake baby, who Dean has affectionately given the name Deana doesn’t cry too often and when she does you just stick the key in her back and get her to stop. It’s nothing like a real baby.
“Babe, I have an exam today I can’t take her with me.” You say, grabbing your bag and heading down the stairs.
“I have practice!” Dean says. Garrett rolls his eyes.
“No he doesn’t, it’s media day, he can stick it in his locker and get it if it alarms.” Garrett says referring to the plastic baby like a bomb.
“I thought media day was tomorrow?” Dean says. “On Thursday?”
“Dude. It is Thursday.” Garrett says patting him on the shoulder. Dean thinks for a second.
“Huh.” He says. “Okay I can take her.” He says, you sigh handing him over the fake baby.
“Please don’t do anything stupid, and don’t shake her, it has a monitor in there.” You say.
“Are you questioning my parenting abilities?” He asks feigning offense. You stare at him.
“Dean, you forgot what day of the week it was. Yes I’m questioning your parenting abilities. In fact I’m questioning your self care abilities.” You say exasperatedly. You turn to Garrett, “is it actually safe to leave him unsupervised?”
“Jury’s still out.” Garrett says. You laugh, pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek before heading to your exam.
The exam goes well. Your day has been going great actually until you get a text from Dean.
Dean 💙🏒: so, hypothetically how mad would you be if I lost the baby???
You:
Dean 💙🏒: that seems like pretty mad…
You: please tell me you’re joking 🙃
Dean 💙🏒: …
You meet Dean outside of the rink.
“Are you serious right now!” You shriek, worried about your grade.
“I’m sure she’ll turn up.” Dean shrugs.
“You lost the baby!” You exclaim, causing a few students to turn their heads your way.
“It’s a fake baby!” Dean reasons.
“That is not the point!” You say face palming yourself.
Your phone dings at the exact time Dean’s does.
Hannah 🎶: attachment: 1 image
You open the text to see your fake baby riding in the back of Garrett’s Jeep.
Dean 💙🏒: for the love of God, put her seatbelt on
You: oh thank goodness, I was afraid she was gone for good
Garrett 🏒: I’m reporting you to the Department of Fake Family Services.
Dean 💙🏒: you can’t take her from us she’s the light of my life! 😫
You: for real though can you bring the baby back I don’t want to fail this class 🤣
Garrett 🏒: She’s thriving. You’re just jealous she prefers her cooler god-parents.
Hannah🎶: We’ll return her after ice cream.
You: She is made of plastic, Hannah.
Hannah 🎶: And yet she’s having the best day of her life.
blurb: after a wild girls’ night out with hannah and allie to a local magic mike show, logan bites off more than he can chew when he shows up to pick up his tipsy girlfriend who’s feeling handsy…
warnings: fem!reader, suggestive, alcohol, established relationship, abs abs abs
John Logan prided himself on being an impeccably patient and responsible boyfriend.
You, however, incessantly challenged that on a daily basis.
Tonight was no different.
Allie, heartbroken and possessed by the recent breakup with Sean, exploded into action and dragged you and Hannah to a Magic Mike show run by a local dance company.
“Support the arts! Dance lives matter!” Allie all but chanted as the three of you had gotten ready in the dorm.
You and Hannah, in much need of a girls’ night, and of course, determined to help your friend recuperate after the messy separation, took it all with an easy stride and a mischievous craving for tantalizing fun.
Hence why the three of you were now stumbling outside the theatre post-show. All giggles and airy thoughts.
Logan arrived not long after your first call of distress.
Distress, perhaps, was not a fitting word for someone who so willingly submitted to the promising rush of the three pinkity drinkities you consumed.
“Hello?” You had hiccuped.
Logan could hear the knowing smile you had on your face even through the speaker.
“I take it girls’ night was a success?” He asked, already getting up from bed and putting on a jacket.
“A slam dunk, a home run, a goal in the net,” you replied with a breathy laugh.
“Where are you?”
He heard some rustling, your voice getting fainter as you presumably turned to speak to your friends. “Allie, where are we?”
Allie squinted at the sign, “It says Lexington and 6th Street.”
You returned to your phone, “Between Lexington and 6th.”
“By Rockside theatre and arts center!” He heard Hannah’s voice chime in.
Logan nodded despite you being unable to see it. “I will be there in 15 minutes. Are you girls outside or inside?”
“Outside,” you replied, watching as Hannah had to wrestle Allie’s phone away before she broke the 36 hour rule with Sean.
“Can you go back inside for me, please?” Logan asked nicely. You could hear the rumbling growl of his jeep’s engine starting.
“Back where the shirtless boys are? Tempting.”
You could practically picture the fond eye roll he probably made at your remark. “Back where it’s safe, gorgeous.” He clarified.
“The place is closed now, silly.”
He hummed in thought. “Okay. Sit tight. Don’t wander without Allie and Hannah.”
True to his word, he arrived 15 minutes later. You raised your arms up in celebration at the sight of the familiar car pulling up in front of you three.
He stepped out the jeep and rounded around to you. Your arms remained upright, awaiting your welcome hug. “Logan!”
He pulled you in with a soft kiss on your head. His eyes quickly assessed your whole body, silently running a prompt diagnostic to evaluate what level of tipsy you were currently exhibiting. His conclusion? A solid 4/10. Manageable.
His gaze turned to the other two musketeers; Hannah at a 3, and Allie at a striking 9. Not so manageable.
“Come on, let me get you guys back to the house,” Logan said, gesturing his head to the jeep.
Hannah shook her head, “Garrett’s coming to take Allie and I back to our dorm.”
“Guess I’m all yours,” you said in the sexiest tone you could muster in your state, running a finger down Logan’s chest.
Logan let out a huff of amusement and looked at the girls. “He say when he’s coming?”
“Should be another 10 minutes,” Hannah replied, now holding Allie’s head that kept lulling off to the side.
Logan, being the responsible and excellent man that he was, planted himself right there against the wall of the theatre and waited until Garrett arrived. He was not leaving Hannah and Allie to wait alone, in the dark, at night. Over his dead body.
“Aww, thanks, Logan,” Allie cooed, swaying in her step.
“Do you wanna wait in the car, Al? You’re moving very precariously,” he suggested, glancing at her from top to bottom with caution and care.
She shook her head, “Fresh air soothes me.” Though Logan didn’t think her statement was entirety factual, he let it slide, nodding politely.
You giggled, “You should’ve seen her on stage, Loge. She was a star.”
Logan raised his brows, “Oh yeah?”
Hannah nodded with an impressed smile, “Allie gave those boys a run for their money.”
Logan always knew Allie belonged on a stage, so hearing this was not shocking at all. He gave a supportive smile, “I bet.”
Allie raised her head off Hannah’s palm and looked at you and Logan, “Your girlfriend was the real stunner. Two of the dancers wanted her to come up for crowd work, but she declined both times.”
Logan froze.
He had to remind himself that he was not a possessive man so easily threatened by other males. Yet, Allie’s slurred comment raised alarm bells.
“Yeah?” His eyes settled on you.
Your cheeks warmed a little, and you shook your hand dismissively. “Audience participation is a big part of these strip shows. I was probably just the most convenient target since I sat by the aisle.”
“Once is convenience, twice is favoritism,” Allie sang.
Hannah looked at you, “I sat by the aisle too and they didn’t ask me,” she reminded.
“Face it, babes. You’re hot stuff,” Allie said with a wink before nearly tripping on her own feet if Hannah hadn’t been holding her arm.
This was all such useful information for Logan.
You hummed, appreciating the compliment and reveling in the flattery. “Thanks, Allie baby. But like I told you during the show, I don’t need a shirtless guy grinding up on me.”
Logan’s jaw ticked.
He was now leaning his arm on a spot on the wall that was by your head. You looked up at him through your lashes. Your wandering hand didn’t think twice before your palm settled on his abdomen. “Unless it’s you.”
Hannah and Allie giggled in that way only girls did when they were truly giddy.
Logan’s lips tugged into that easy smirk he mastered; not cocky enough to be a douche, but definitely not humble enough to pass for innocent.
His fingers wrapped around your wrist, keeping your hand right where it was. “Yeah?” His voice was lower, dangerously charismatic.
“Mhm, we got Magic Mike right here,” you responded, and he did not stop you when you lifted his cotton shirt up to reveal those glorious abs of his, sculpted from relentless hockey mornings and restless nights at the garage.
Logan had to bite his bottom lip to stop his mouth from splitting into a smug bastard’s grin. He shook his head in unserious exasperation, but really it was an excuse to lock in.
The girls and you chuckled freely, high off the drinks and fun night. Suddenly, the idea of Logan being a Magic Mike dancer seemed to be the most hilariously entertaining thing the three of you could imagine.
And because Logan was Logan—and what is Logan if not a devious charmer in sheep’s clothing—he put his free hand on the wall by the other side of your head, caging you in. The girls’ laughter doubled with accompanying squeals of hysteria.
You giggled too, feeling very much content and fine with this strapping 6 ft something hockey player holding you hostage against the wall with his fit body. You did not need any saving here.
Hannah snapped a quick photo that she would most definitely be sending into the group chat once morning comes.
Logan dipped his head down, teasing you by not kissing you, but staying right there in the crook of your neck. You felt his soft breathing against your skin. Goosebumps rippled through you, and you felt yourself squirm in place. Such sweet torture.
“Did they do this in the show?” Logan whispered by your ear.
You shook your head, “No, but now I wish they did.”
Logan pressed a kiss below your ear and pulled away, just in time, too, as Garrett’s black car pulled up right next to them.
Hannah and Allie sighed, “Our savior!” Allie breathed out in relief.
Garrett shot a curious and amused look Logan’s way, but did not ask follow-up questions. He simply guided his girlfriend and friend into his car. In similar fashion, Logan walked you over to his jeep with a hand on the small of your back.
Logan left you on aux duty, and he regretted his decision immediately when you played Pony by Ginuwine.
He shot you a look, but you were too busy dancing in the passenger seat to the music. Your eyes met his and you played oblivious to his reaction. Defeated, Logan simply shook his head with a smile and clipped his seatbelt on.
You were so getting it tonight.
this lowk sucks but i need to beat the writer’s block
