It's MAY time to say goodbye

|| team Cap || anxious ||

[markleesthighs]

Beauty in Silence | Part 2

Pairings:  Dean Di Laurentis x MuteGraham!Y/N

Genre: fluff, angst, grumpy!Y/N x sunshine!Dean

Warnings: Mentions of a mute disability, ASL dialog will be in italics, college parties, mild cheating, fighting

Words: 4.8k

Summary: Not everything can be kept a secret. Dean begins to learn that actions are stronger than words. Dean learns the hard way that relationships are complicated, especially when you want to keep them. 

Read Part 1 Here

You and Dean got back to the house and helped Dean up the stairs. You both entered through the door to see Hannah in the kitchen. 

“Oh, hey guys, Gars is in his room if you’re looking for him, Y/N. He’s been asking about you non-stop.”

You pointed at Dean. “Help. Dean. First.”

“Do you need any help with him up the stairs?”

You shook your head. 

“Suit yourselves, I’m going to give this glass of water to Garrett.”

Hannah went up the stairs before you turned to Dean, offering to take his bag. As you reached for it, you felt your whole body buckle to the ground. 

“I told you it was heavy. Let me.” Dean gestured, taking the bag back from you. You pouted at him, upset he was right for once. He mostly used the railing and you to help him climb up the stairs. You finally arrived at his room. Dean put his bag down in the front as you plopped onto his messy bed. Despite the mess, it smelled clean and of his musk. 

“Wow, already making yourself at home?” Dean laughed. He sat down next to you as you felt the bed dip. Dean let out a small hiss. You quickly got up to grab the ice pack from Dean, trying to replace the paper towel around it that had gotten wet from condensation. You went to Dean’s bathroom to replace it. You came out to see Dean holding the side of his rib. You motioned to lift his shirt to see an old black-and-blue bruise. 

You were trying to avert your eyes from his perfectly toned abs. Dean lifted his shirt off and shyly showed how many other bruises he had accumulated tonight. You delicately touched them as you brushed the ice pack around each spot. You couldn’t see it, but Dean’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his hand touching his skin with gentle care. He kissed the top of your forehead. 

Sweet. Y/N. Thank you. Dean had signed at you, imitating what you said to him a few nights ago. You, annoyed, pressed the ice pack harder into his abdomen area. 

“Ow, ow, ok, ok, I’m sorry, you’re in charge.” Dean yelp. 

You smiled as you went back to caring for the large blonde, encouraging him to take some ibuprofen to help with the pain. He obliged before you heard a knock at the door. You instinctively backed away from Dean and answered the door. It was Hannah. Thank goodness. 

“Hey, Garrett was asking about you. He just wanted to see you before you head out. Unless…” Hannah glanced behind you to see a shirtless Dean. 

“You’re busy with something.” 

You waved your hands, trying to deny anything happening. 

“I’m just joking with you, Y/N. Don’t worry.” 

You sighed in relief as you closed the door behind you and walked with Hannah to Garrett’s room. Garrett sat up, realizing it was you. Hannah awkwardly left, leaving you two alone to talk. Garrett walked over to you to hug you. 

“You had me so worried, Y/N. For the record I’m not happy with you.” Garrett let go of the hug. 

What’s the big deal? I’m not a little girl anymore, Garrett. I can handle myself. 

“What would’ve happened if I didn’t come out to beat those motherfuckers or what if Dean didn’t step in at Malone’s that other night?”

Your eyes fell on the comment about Dean. 

“I just don’t want what happened at boarding school to happen again.” Garrett noted. 

Despite your boarding school being for the mute and deaf, bullying was still heavily prevalent. They would brag about how athletic your brother and dad were at sports and were confused about how you were so bad at them. Since both you and Garrett didn’t have a good relationship with your dad after your mom died, Garrett was often your emergency contact. He wouldn’t forget that day. The nurse described that during gym class, a group of girls targeted you, throwing dodgeball after dodgeball at you, even when you were out. When Garrett showed up to check up on you, you were covered in bruises, and your eyes were lightly puffy from crying. From that day, he swore to protect you, no matter how long the distance. After that, he had a discussion with the principal to put you into independent study. He feels guilty that it was probably one of the reasons why you were so introverted and reluctant to trust people. 

“Y/N, I just want you to have a fresh start here at Briar. I don’t need the lacrosse team harassing you on campus.” 

I know. I promise I won’t cause you more trouble. I know how much being scouted for the NHL means to you.

“The NHL doesn’t matter that much Y/N, family comes first.”

Just don’t use me as an excuse if you play badly one day, ok?. Garrett laughed. “Of course not.”

Garrett brought you in for one more hug. “Get home safe ok? I’ll text Logan or Tucker to drive you home. I know Dean’s probably being a cry baby about his bruises.”

You laughed, knowing how true that statement was. You briefly said goodbye before pit-stopping at Dean’s room to check on him. He was lying on his back on his bed. 

“For a second I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye.” Dean walked up to meet you as you closed the door behind you. 

I can’t stay long. Tucker or Logan is going to drive me home.

Those words made Dean’s mouth frown, upset that you weren’t staying the night. But figured Garrett would become suspicious if you stayed at the house. 

“But who’s going to hold the ice pack for me all night? Who’s going to tuck me into bed? Who’s going to keep my bed warm? Who will go get me an ice-cold water? Who-

You placed your pointer finger over Dean’s lips, quieting him immediately. You placed a light kiss on his lips. 

“Dean. Talk. A lot.” 

“Sorry, Y/N, you should go before Tucker and Logan think you’ve disappeared.” Dean gave you a quick goodnight kiss before escorting you downstairs (still limping) and seeing Logan waiting for you on the couch.

“Ready to go Y/N? I see Dean’s still begging for someone to take care of him.”

“I’ll have you know Logan, I am perfectly fin-” Dean stumbled over the last step on the stairs.

Dean cursed under his breath. “Fuck- I’m fine, on my own.”

“Whatever you say bud, let’s get you home, Y/N. I'd better not catch you trying to crawl up the stairs when I get back.”

You said goodbye to Dean as you walked out to Logan’s truck. It looked a little old and beaten up, but still had some charm to it. 

“I know the truck isn’t as luxurious as Dean’s BMW, but I promise you will get back in one piece.” Logan noted.

“It’s ok.”

You hopped in as Logan started up the engine. 

“Sorry you had to see us beat up the entire lacrosse team, we usually keep it on the ice. Gar was really worried about you.”

“I’m sorry”

“Y/N, there’s nothing to be sorry about, Garrett’s always looking out for you, including us. I don’t think the lacrosse team is going to be bothering you anymore.”

“Thanks.”

“Just know you can always talk to us if something happens, ok?”

“Sure.”

You arrived at your dorm and said your goodbyes to Logan. You got back to your room and wanted to collapse from the day you had. Were you actually dating Dean? Or was it something else? Are you dreaming?

·༻𐫱༺·

You woke up for class with barely any sleep from last night. You were so excited to head to class to talk to Dean that you got up early to pick up a coffee for him from your favorite cafe. But when you arrived, you didn’t expect the large crowd around him. You saw a group of girls asking him about the fight last night. Some were even trying to give him ice packs and massage his aches. Your heart panged a bit. Of course Dean was popular, but you didn’t expect it to hurt so bad. To be in the aisle of the seats and for Dean to not even notice you amongst the sea of girls was frustrating. You huffed and chose to sit in another row, wondering if he would even notice. It wasn’t until the professor came in and made a comment about it that Dean remembered where he was. 

“Ladies, if you aren’t enrolled in this class, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You will see Mr. Di Laurantis in 2 hours.”

The girls scattered in embarrassment, saying their goodbyes to Dean. He looked around like a lost puppy looking for you. You were focused on your mock-ups that you didn’t notice he floated over to you. 

“Hey, you, new seats?”

You gave Dean the silent treatment. 

“Hey, earth to Y/N?” He waved a hand in front of your face. You swatted his hand away. 

“Y/N? I’m sorry about all the girls they just came up to me and-”

You continued to work and ignored Dean. 

He sighed as he pulled out his notebook and an iced chai latte with some of the ice melted.

“I know it’s your favorite, I picked it up this morning.” He slowly placed it on your desk. 

Out of pity, you took it and quietly sipped it. A few minutes later, you pulled out his coffee, black, one sugar. 

“Well, well, well, don’t we think alike.”

You still didn’t look at him as he desperately tried to get his face into your line of sight. This time you playfully shoved his face out of your way and pointed to his notebook. You both sat in silence for the rest of the class. When class was over, Dean waited for you as you both walked out. Another crowd of girls started coming up to Dean. Dean saw your face sour, and you rolled your eyes, expecting to get trampled again. Without thinking, Dean grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the hall. You were out of breath, annoyed by the blonde. You slapped him on the shoulder. 

“Hey! I just needed to get a quick sprint in.”

Liar, and now my arm hurts.

“I’m sorry about that, I just didn’t want you to get caught up in the crowd again.” 

Next time, just warn me. 

“Got it, I will try to not let it happen again.”

Dean softly put his hand on your shoulder, giving it a small rub. Dean looked like he wanted to kiss you. Dean quickly looked around before slowly leaning in.

·༻𐫱༺·

“Y/N? You ready to go?” Garrett’s voice jumped out before you stepped back, hoping he didn’t see you two. 

“Oh hey Gar, I was just heading out to my next class. Just wanted to make sure Y/N wasn’t being disturbed by any lacrosse guys.” Dean patted you on the shoulder. 

“Thanks Dean, do you mind swinging by the store to get beer for the party later?” Garrett said, grabbing your bookbag from you. 

There’s a party tonight?

“Yeah to celebrate our win from last night. I’m not going to force you to come, but you are welcome to join us. I want no funny business, if I see a guy trying to talk to you I will sweep them away.”

I’m not a child, Garrett. I can handle myself.  

“You’re lucky Dean, Tucker, and Logan will be there. I’m assigning them to watch you like a hawk.”

You rolled your eyes as you and Garrett said your goodbyes to Dean. You at least knew Garrett wasn’t lying about one of the boys watching you like a hawk. Garrett dropped you off at your dorm. He mentioned that if you wanted to come to the party, you should text Logan for a ride since he’d be sober.

·༻𐫱༺·

You went back to your dorm to finish up some homework before heading to the dining hall. You ran into Tucker there with a few other hockey guys. 

“Hey Y/N! You coming to the party later?”

You shook your head no.

“Aww, c’mon, you deserve a night out after dealing with Dean for most of the semester.” You made a hand motion for a ‘maybe’. 

As you were heading out, Tucker called out. “If I don’t see you there, I will be texting you!” 

You smiled as you went back to your dorm to wrap up a design you were making for your 2D art class. You checked the clock, and it was about 9 PM. You saw a sea of texts from Tucker and Dean begging you to come to the party. You then got a FaceTime call from Tucker. You answered, seeing a very drunk Tucker. 

“Y/N!! You need to come! I need a pong partner!”

You laughed as you saw Tucker pan the camera to the pong table and a sober Logan missing a shot. 

“He sucks, Y/N! I need some Graham talent to grace this table!” 

You noticed Dean in the background on the other side, holding another girl by the waist. She had her arm brushing against him, giggling at whatever he was saying. You spaced out whatever Tucker said and kept looking across the ping-pong table. Tucker, realizing the camera wasn’t on his face, panned it back to himself. 

“So Y/N are you coming?! Should I send Logan to drag you out of your dorm?” 

“For the record, I’m not doing that if you don’t want to!” Logan called out. 

You, angry and wanting to slap Dean in the face, gave Tucker a thumbs up. I guess you were going to go find out for yourself what kind of person Dean was. You scrambled, putting on some eyeliner and mascara before hearing Logan text you that he was here. You realized you hadn’t really planned what you’d do when you saw Dean. I mean, you weren’t dating- you just kissed, right? But what kind of guy buys your favorite drink order one second and then has his arm wrapped around another girl? You tried your best to keep your emotions in Logan’s car. Luckily, he mistook it for nerves. 

“Hey are you ok? I know it’s your first party so it’s ok to be nervous.”

“I’m fine.” 

“If you ever want to leave just call me ok? I can take you back to your dorm whenever.”

“Thanks.”

·༻𐫱༺·

You and Logan got out of his truck as he opened the door for you. The party was loud as expected, and it was flooded with girls and the hockey team. Most of them, unfortunately, recognized you from the fight, and you gave them small waves. A drunk Tucker made his way towards you. 

“Y/N! You made it! We need to get you a drink! Unless you don’t want one, you are always welcome to water in the fridge.” 

You smiled, thanking Tucker as he grabbed you a shot of tequila. That was quickly swiped by Garrett, who appeared next to you with Hannah. 

“Not on my watch.” Garrett said as he took the shot for you.

“C’mon Gar, let the girl have some fun, here, have some of my drink, it’s vodka and cranberry juice.”

You took a small sip, smiling, thanking Hannah. Your eyes drifted to see Dean talking to that same girl by a keg. How could he be so stupid? You knew he was loud, annoying, and clueless, but how could he stand there smiling, talking to that girl when he was just calling you his girlfriend yesterday? 

“C’mon, Y/N, let’s play pong!” Tucker dragged you to the pong table, which made Dean’s head perk up. He started to drift over to you, watching Tucker set up a new game. 

“You guys need any help?” Dean perked. 

“Can you fill these cups with beer?” Tucker handed him a bunch of cups. You avoided eye contact and continued sipping on your drink. Dean came back shortly and tried to make conversation with you. 

“Having fun?” Dean asked.

You shrugged.

“Do you want to be partners with me? I’m a three-time house champion.” Dean smirked.

“You only were house champion because I wasn’t here!” Tucker chirped. 

You didn’t answer, Dean trying to ignore him.

“Y/N, I know you’re mute, not deaf.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, pulling Tucker next to you. 

“Fine, play with him, I’ll find another partner.” Dean turned to see the girl he was talking to earlier and asked if she wanted to play with him.

She agreed, and now you’re going to play the most dreadful game in your life. You and Tucker were unfortunately losing to Dean and the mysterious girl, and they had one cup left. The girl made it in, and you watched as she hugged Dean and then pulled him in for a kiss. Tucker made a gagging noise while you stood frozen. You were horrified. Garrett warned you this would happen. Dean does get around, and you were just another one of those girls he messed with. You grabbed the last cup, chugging it, not even caring about the bad-tasting beer in your mouth. You just wanted to leave. 

Dean made it crystal clear: the whole girlfriend-and-boyfriend ploy was a lie. Did he flirt with you for fun? Did he only do it to piss off Garrett? Did he only like you because you were Garrett’s sister? You’ve never felt this way about someone. You felt that your heart was going to beat out of your chest and you felt yourself breathing faster. What was this feeling? You didn’t want to make a scene. You barely could anyway. It’s not like screaming at Dean would help. 

·༻𐫱༺·

You stumbled your way to finding Logan and signaled to him to take you home. He immediately nodded, grabbing his keys, and texted Garrett that he was taking you home. Logan led you out to his truck, but you felt your knees buckle on the porch and you curled up into a ball. 

“Y/N? Are you ok?” Logan turned around. He noticed you were breathing heavily and wouldn’t stand up. 

“I’m going to get Garrett and some water, just stay put and deep breaths ok?” Logan rushed back inside, leaving you on the porch. You heard the door open and were about to wave off a nervous Garrett. You looked up and saw Dean. 

You rolled your eyes at the dumb blonde. 

“Hey”

You gave no response.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, I think she was really drunk and came on to kiss me I swear.”

Your eyes wanted to well up again, not wanting to hear his excuses. You rolled up out of your ball and came face to face with Dean

“C’mon, Y/N, talk to me. You’ve been off all day.”

Are you always like this?

“Like what?”

Around girls, flirting with them, smiling, enjoying their attention.

“I didn’t think that would bother you. I wouldn’t hurt you on purpose.” You just kissed a girl in front of me.

“Again, she kissed me! I didn’t know she was going to do that!”

I’m tired of your excuses.

“Excuses? You’re seriously going to be upset over one kiss?”

You slapped Dean in the face. After that moment, Garrett and Logan walked out to find a shocked Garrett and Logan. 

“Y/N! What is wrong with you?! You don’t slap my friends!” Garrett pulled you away from Dean while Logan was talking to him. 

“What’s gotten into you? If Dean really pissed you off you could’ve just told me.” Garrett angrily lectured. 

It’s more complicated than that.

“Really? What could possibly be a good explanation for slapping one of my best friends?”

Garrett, I can’t tell you.

“Y/N, you can tell me.”

Promise you won’t get upset?

“Of course, I promise.”

You sighed. Last night Dean and I confessed we had feelings for each other. I assumed we were dating, and he kissed another girl in front of me at the party. 

“He what? You guys…what?!” Garrett immediately stormed up to Dean and pinned him against the outside of the house. 

“Seriously Dean, out of all the girls in this school my sister? And to top it all off you broke her heart?!”

Logan tried to calm them both down as you also tried to break them up. 

“Dean I’m going to kill you! You didn’t even have the balls to tell me you’re dating my own sister?”

Dean just fell silent, looking at you for a reaction. To be honest, you were annoyed with both of them.  

“Stop!” They both turned to look at you. You angrily signed to both of them 

Garrett put Dean down. Dean, you need to go. You’re both drunk, and I just want to go home.

“Logan, do you mind taking her home?” Garrett asked

For the record, I’m upset with both of you. Don’t bother calling or texting me tonight.

“Y/N, that’s not fair. How will I know you got back safe?” Dean chimed in. 

Logan can text both of you. Goodnight.

·༻𐫱༺·

You stormed off as Logan quickly followed behind you. You hopped in and slammed Logan’s truck door.

“Hey, I know you’re upset but try not to take it out on my truck please.” Logan begged.

“Sorry.”

Most of the car ride was silent before Logan pulled up to your dorm. You pointed at his phone, gesturing to him to text Dean and Garrett. He obliged, sending them a photo of you in front of your dorm alive and well. 

“For what it’s worth, Y/N, they both really care about you. We’re like family to G, and you’re family to us. Not that dating Dean is incest or anything but you get my point. As much as stupid Dean is, he’s got a big heart, you guys will figure it out.”

You smiled at his sentiment, thanking him as you headed off to your dorm for the night. 

·༻𐫱༺·

For the next few days, Dean wouldn’t stop bothering you non-stop. Constantly begging to talk, or you’d see bouquets of flowers with notes at your door. Even the baristas at your favorite cafe told you every chai latte you ordered was paid for. Dean at least kept his distance in your ASL class, knowing there was no point since you weren’t talking to him. Garrett was even worse. He’d always offer to walk or drive you to class, but you’d give him nothing but silent treatment. 

“She’s impossible!” Dean came back to the house annoyed again by your lack of communication. 

“The Grahams are stubborn. That's for sure.” Logan laughed, fixing something in the kitchen. 

Garrett then came back, slamming the door and sighing. 

“No luck either, Graham?” Logan inquired. 

Garrett shook his head.

“Gar, she’s your sister,  how have you not found a way to make her talk?”

“Believe it or not Dean, she prefers staying quiet.” Garrett put his bag down before coming to join Dean in their defeat. 

“You guys really are dense.” Logan laughed. 

“What’s your big idea then, Logan?” Dean spat back at Logan. 

“Look, Garrett, your sister isn’t stupid. You don’t need her to talk, she just needs to listen and from I’ve heard, she’s a great one.”

They both cocked their heads in confusion.

“Talk to her idiots. Plead your case. Apologize. In person.” Logan turned to go upstairs to shower. Garrett turned to Dean

“I’ll talk to her first. I’ll try to get her to figure things out with you and your stupid brain.” 

·༻𐫱༺·

Dean thanked him as Garrett drove off to knock on your dorm door. Garrett unfortunately still had your location, so he knew you were in your dorm. You opened the door and let him in. 

“Look Y/N, you don’t have to say anything but I’m asking as your brother to just listen to me.”

You nodded, sitting down in your bed as Garrett sat in your desk chair. 

“I’m sorry for the way I reacted. It was inappropriate. I just don’t want to see you get hurt, especially by one of my best friends. Trust me I’m not happy with him either. I know you can handle yourself but can you blame me? I don’t care if you’re 18 or 50, you’ll always be my little sister. And I’ll always look out for you.”

You looked at Garrett in sympathy.

“I know you’re getting older, and there are some things I can’t control or save you from. But I know you can get through it because you’re strong, just like Mom.” 

You smiled at Garrett’s sentiment, welling up some tears. You brought him in for a hug. 

“I’ll take this as I’ve been forgiven.” You nodded, hitting him in the arm. 

“Nice to see Y/N is back. All I ask is you also hear Dean out, he’s at the house, he feels really bad about what happened. You don’t have to forgive him and you don’t even have to take him back, just listen to him.” 

“Fine.” You spoke. 

·༻𐫱༺·

Garrett drove you back to the house. Dean was nowhere in sight, so you assumed he was in his room. You walked in on Dean cursing and fussing with something by the window. 

“C’mon, don’t die on me yet, she hasn’t seen you!”

You knocked on the door. Dean turned, revealing a purple orchid behind him that was slightly drooping from the direct sunlight. He looked like a lost puppy trying to figure out what was wrong with it. You brushed him aside, moving the plant onto his desk away from the sun, and took the water cup in your hands to dump it in the sink. 

Seriously Dean? Are you trying to kill the poor orchid?

“I didn’t mean to! I just wanted to give it to you as an apology.”

It’s going to take more than a special purple orchid to fix that.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am. I really didn’t mean for that to happen. If I’m honest, I’m new to the whole dating thing.” 

You tilted your head in confusion.

“Yes, I know Garrett told you I’ve been with other women, but dating? I’ve never done it. I’m just too scared.”

You? Scared?

“I may bash guys into the boards every day but pouring your heart into someone with the risk of getting hurt? I don’t know how people do it.”

Do you think I’d hurt you?

“No. But now I know what it’s like, and it sucks. Having someone that makes you feel breathless and live in the moment. Someone who doesn’t need to talk all the time and just wants to be next to me. Someone who knows what’s wrong with a simple facial expression. Someone who can say so much and nothing at the same time.” 

You were speechless by his words.

“Y/N, I know you don’t have to take me back or even want to date me again but I’m going to shoot my shot and ask if you’d just forgive me and my stupid brain.”

“Dean. Not. Stupid.” You replied. 

Dean smiled. 

You leaned in for a small, gentle kiss, and Dean kissed back. 

Just promise you won’t hurt me again?

“I promise. Or else Garrett will probably kick me out of the house.”

You giggled. 

Want to start over?

“Yes, please. Hi, I’m Dean.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“You’re cute, are you seeing anyone?”

I was, but I’ve recently just become single.

“That’s great, can I take you on a date?”

“Sure.”

Dean smiled as he turned around, remembering the orchid on his desk. “Oh, and this is for you.”

You smiled, thanking him. 

So where are you taking me on our first date?

“How about the library?”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“I was joking! How about we go to Malone’s? I’ll get you a milkshake.”

“Sounds great.”

You giggled as you and Dean prepared to head off to your new date. Despite everything that happened, you were happy for once that Dean opened his mouth and finally said the right things. 

A/N: Thank you to everyone for your support for part 1 and you all for the long awaited part 2, it was a lot shorter because I didn't expect to write a part 2! I'm sorry it took so long but hopefully it was worth the wait and you all enjoyed!

Taglist: @ilovechickenwings, @napisjmz, @libbyaller, @saltyfriendsaladbandit, @chronically-jess, @midnightmax, @indrasnet, @lovedcoast, @i-know-freaking-judo

[markleesthighs]

Beauty in Silence

Pairings:  Dean Di Laurentis x MuteGraham!Y/N

Genre: fluff, angst, grumpy!Y/N x sunshine!Dean

Warnings: Mentions of a mute disability, ASL dialog will be in italics, bullying, physical fighting

Words: 8.5k

Summary: You are a freshman at Briar with an overprotective brother, leaving you protected by his friends. Dean discovers there’s more to life than talking about girls, sex, and partying. There’s a hidden beauty in living in the moment. 

Ever since you were young, Garrett has shown no hesitation in making sure that you were protected. Having a disabled sister was hard on Garrett, watching people make fun of you or say you aren’t intelligent enough because you were born mute. This is what led everyone in the family to learn ASL and get you into speech therapy. But when your and Garrett’s mom passed away, Phil sent both of you off to boarding school, making it even harder for you to adapt. You were placed into a special boarding school for deaf and mute kids so you could practice ASL and continue speech therapy. Throughout it all, you eventually picked up basic phrases but still struggled to carry on a full conversation and preferred ASL. 

You had a deal with your dad. If Garrett made it into Briar, he would pull every string he could to get you there. Garrett also researched ahead of time and found that they had amazing student disability services, including student ASL interpreters, assignment excuses (for you, such as doing a speech for a class), and extra time on exams. Phil also felt more comfortable sending you somewhere with Garrett cause then at least one person would know ASL or look out for you. Before you came to Briar, Garrett had told his teammates about you. Only his close friends were aware that you were mute, and he taught them basic ASL signs to prepare when you visited. 

Now, as an incoming freshman at Briar, you were nervous because most people don’t know ASL, so you sometimes opted for text-to-speech as well. At the beginning of the semester, Garrett made an effort for the guys to watch out for you and not be afraid to step in if other first-year students made fun of you. After your calculus class, Garrett insisted you visit his house and meet his roommates. He assured you that they knew you were mute and that they knew some ASL. All you knew was that these were the guys Garrett played hockey with and that they were good. 

“Hey, guys! Come meet my sister!”

You see a guy with curly hair behind the kitchen, cooking something that smells like a stew. You then see another guy with wavy brown hair and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, holding a hammer. They both wave at you. 

“Hey, I’m Tucker, this is Logan.” the one with the pink apron mentioned. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You replied. 

“Dude, I thought you said she was mute.” Logan spoke up.

“It’s called speech therapy, dumbasses. She can say basic words but not a full conversation.” Garrett shot back. 

You rolled your eyes. 

“My apologies, Y/N,” Logan meekly replied. 

It’s okay. I get it a lot.

“I remember that’s the sign for ok, so I think I’m in the clear.” Logan cheered.

You sighed at his sentiment. You then hear the door open behind you. It's a tall blonde with a wide frame and bright blue eyes. 

“Yo Graham! And baby Graham, you look just like your brother.” Dean bent down to look at you. 

Gross

“What does that one mean?” Dean looked perplexed

“She said, gross dude.” Tucker chirped. 

“How did you know that?!” Dean shot his head up at Tucker.

“It’s called reading, I wanted to know the important words in case she tried my cooking. Did you not look over the basic ASL language Garrett sent us?”

“Not going to lie, I glanced over it for a few seconds.”

“Seriously, dude?” Garrett looked at Dean, pissed.

“What? I thought I had more time to study.”

What’s the loud blonde dude’s name? 

Logan squinted at you again, trying to think. “I think she’s asking your name dude.”

Dean looked back at you and pulled his hand back. “Dean. Dean Di Laurentis. Don’t you forget it,” and then Dean winked at you. You looked disgusted. 

“Damn harsh crowd, I’ve never been rejected so subtly before. And what’s your name baby Graham?”

“Y/N.” You quietly replied. 

“So she speaks. Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Dean smiled before heading towards the kitchen. While they all sat, you turned to Garrett, already annoyed by this whole interaction. 

You told me they knew ASL, but they barely know anything, especially that blonde one. You signed. 

“They’re trying their best, ok? They didn’t have 18 years with it. They had, at most, probably had two weeks.” Garrett whispered low so they couldn’t hear. 

Should I just do the text-to-speech thing? It’s probably easier for them to understand.

“No, Y/N, just do what makes you feel comfortable, worst case I’ll be here to translate.” Garrett rubbed your shoulder in reassurance. 

Good, cause honestly, whatever the curly-haired one was making smelled good.

“Tucker’s a great cook, you can always come over for a free dinner if the dining hall food isn’t up to par.”

Last week, they had undercooked chicken, and I almost gagged.

Garrett laughed as he brought you back to the group. 

“She’s staying for dinner, guys!” Garrett cheered. 

·༻𐫱༺·

When Dean walked over after meeting you, he was debriefing with Tucker and Logan. 

“So that’s Garrett’s sister?” Logan inquired

“Yeah, dude, can’t you see the resemblance? They both got dark curly hair, and she also has his Angry Bird eyebrows.” Dean responded.  

“She’s just as expressive as him for sure.” Tucker added while stirring his chicken and dumpling soup. 

“How can you even tell? She can barely talk.” Dean, perplexed. 

“You can tell a lot from a person by just their face, unlike you, talking your ear off to someone any chance you get.” Tucker rolled his eyes. 

Dean looked over at you and Garrett talking, even though you were signing, he looked at your face, which looked a little concerned as your eyebrows furrowed. A part of Dean wished he knew what you were saying. He turned back to Tucker and Logan in the kitchen.

“How long do you think it takes to learn ASL?” Dean spoke out of the blue.

“My guess is probably one or two semesters, they have classes on campus for it.” Logan responded before heading upstairs to fix something in the bathroom. 

“Do you think it’s too late to register?” Dean frantically pulled out his phone to see if it fit in his schedule. 

“I’m sure you can email someone, I don’t think people are fighting over a spot in that class.” Tucker started tasting his broth before adding salt and other spices.

Garrett then walked over with Y/N and cheered, “She’s staying for dinner!” 

“I hope she likes chicken and dumplings.”

“What is that?” Garrret asked. 

“Its like a creamy chicken soup with bits of dough in it, its my mom’s recipe.”

Sounds delicious.

Tucker looked excited, “I know she just said delicious, and trust it will be!”

Garrett smiled, seeing how much effort he had put into communicating with you, unlike Dean, who still looked confused. 

“Yo G!” Logan had come back downstairs. “Dean was interested in taking some ASL classes. Do you know of any?”

“Oh? Already trying to make up embarrassing me in front of my sister?” Garrett patted Dean’s shoulder. 

“I just thought it’d be cool since I’m taking less credits this semester.” 

“Well, congrats Dean, you just won yourself a ticket to be my sister’s personal body guard. She’s taking an ASL course, you can join her class.”

Garrett, are you out of your mind? He’s going to bother me all semester. I’ve only met him for a few minutes, and he’s already on my nerves.

Garrett signed back, so Dean or the other guys wouldn't hear his response. I don’t want you wandering campus alone, plus Dean is intimidating enough that no one will bother you. 

What if the person bothering me is going to be around me almost every day? You signed at Garrett and rolled your eyes. 

Just stick it out for two weeks. If he’s really bothering you, I’ll tell him to fuck off, and I’ll drive you to school. 

You sighed, agreeing to Garrett's pleas and putting on a fake smile, excited that Dean would be joining your ASL class. 

Tucker looked up at both of you before serving dinner. “You guys good?”

“Yeah, she’s totally excited to show Dean the wonders of ASL,” Garrett smiled. 

You fake-smiled with two thumbs up, looking at Dean. Everyone eventually transitioned to the dining room table to enjoy the chicken and dumplings Tucker made. Despite never having it before, you found it delicious. When Tucker asked how it was, you said it was good, and then Tucker started to dance with excitement at your compliment. 

You had wished you could just enjoy your food and your brother's company, but unfortunately, there was a certain blonde who wouldn’t stop bothering you. 

“So, Y/N, what’s your major?”

Graphic Design

“What’s your favorite color?” Purple

“What’s your favorite food?”

Mac and Cheese

“What’s your favorite animal?”

Whale shark

“What do you do in your free time?”

Draw or paint.

Dean looked up at Garrett in anticipation. “I got none of that. What did she say G?”

“She said she's a graphic design major, purple, mac and cheese, whale shark, and draw or paint. If you’re going to ask her all these things, you'd better pay attention in your ASL class.”  

You looked down at your soup, hoping the blonde would give up on trying to talk to you, but he kept trying to get you to speak. You got up abruptly to refill a bowl of soup, and, like a puppy dog, Dean followed. 

“Allow me,” Dean grabbed the ladle. You rolled your eyes. Dean poured you a bowl and noticed it was mostly made of broth. There was barely any chicken, vegetables, or dough in your bowl. Your eyebrows furrowed. Dean noticed your annoyed expression and realized there was nothing in your bowl. He grabbed it out of your hands, dumped the soup, and dug deeper into the pot to get you more solids. 

“Thank you.” You quietly replied before scurrying off back to the table. Garrett asked if everything was ok and you nodded, continuing to eat. Dean came back shortly with another bowl, busy eating it this time, figuring you enjoyed some silence. You had finished the last drops of water in your glass before Garrett and Dean awkwardly got up at the same time to grab the pitcher from the fridge to refill it. You can hear them whispering and bickering by the fridge. 

“Dude, why are you also grabbing the pitcher?”

“I wanted to refill Y/N’s water.”

“Why are you being so nice all of a sudden to my baby sister? I swear to god if you even try to pull one of your stupid flirty moves, I will personally slam you across the table. I bet it won’t even work on her”

“Watch me.”

Dean came back with the pitcher and accidentally spilled some water on your shirt while trying to refill your cup. You groaned before noticing Dean take off his shirt and wipe the table down with it. Dean looked over, hoping to see you blush at his figure, but was only met with a disgusted look and you turning to say something to Garrett. Dean didn’t even get to the part where he offered you one of his shirts to use in his room before you stormed upstairs towards Garrett's room.

“Nice one Dean. I bet she’s going to toss up her dinner after seeing that one.” Garrett laughed. Now Dean was the embarrassed one. Upstairs in Garrett's room, you grabbed one of his Briar U Hawks shirts and, without thinking, started changing with the door open. 

·༻𐫱༺·

Dean went upstairs to toss his shirt in the laundry and get a new one when he froze, noticing you in just a bra, mid-change. Without a word, he saw you rush and slam the door in his face. You were on the verge of feeling overwhelmed, sitting on the floor behind the slammed door. Why wouldn’t stupid Dean leave you alone? Garrett, hearing the slam, nervously rushed upstairs before knocking on the door. 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” Garrett sounded worried, so you slowly opened the door, letting Garrett into his room before closing it again. 

“What’s going on? Are you okay? I heard the door slam.”

Dean is just too much right now. The questions. Spilling water on me. He also saw me in my bra.

“He did what?!” You grabbed Garrett’s arm before he could think about storming to kill Dean. 

It was an accident. It’s mostly my fault for not closing your door while I was changing. I’m sorry. 

“Y/N, there is nothing to be sorry about. I know my friends can be a lot but trust me they have good hearts.”

Is it just hard, you know? To keep up with all that energy.

“I know you’re trying your best. I’ll tell Dean to tone it down, especially since it’s going to be harder to draw a conversation out of you.”

Thank you.

Garrett pulled you in for a hug. It was one of the best things about Garrett. He was always understanding, not just about your disability, but also that you tended to be more introverted than he was. Garrett didn’t realize how extraverted all his friends were, and Dean was the king of it. He regretted suggesting that you put Dean in your ASL courses and probably should’ve tried to convince Logan or Tucker instead. Garrett then decided to take you home since it was getting dark out. You said your goodbyes to Logan and Tucker, and you assumed Dean stayed in his room after your interaction. Garrett dropped you off at your dorm before heading back to his house. Dean was still nowhere to be found before Garrett knocked on his door. 

“Yo Dean! My sister left, can I talk to you?”

Dean, now freshly showered in clean clothes, slowly opened his door. 

“For the record, G, it was a complete accident.”

“I know, she told me. But don’t get too comfortable now, cause that’s the last time you’re ever seeing that again. Am I clear?” Garrett 

“Crystal.”

“Also, I gotta ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Look, man, I know you love talking and socializing, but do you mind toning it down a bit around my sister?” Dean looked up, confused

“What do you mean?”

“She’s more of the introverted, artsy type, and we’re all outgoing jocks, you can probably guess how those two things don’t mix well.”

“Well how do you tone it down? I’ve never seen you more gentle with someone than her.”

“The first thing I do is listen. I let her do the talking so I can figure out how much she wants to socialize. Sometimes she ices me out, and I leave her alone.”

“But how do people just operate like that? I feel like I can’t go a few minutes without needing to speak to someone.”

“Believe it or not, Dean, people’s brains have different levels of social battery. I think yours never runs out. Just try to not pry or force conversation out of her, you have all semester to talk to her.” 

Garrett patted him on the back before going to bed. That was the one problem with Dean. He wanted to talk to you all semester, get to know everything about you. He was fascinated by you. Besides ignoring every attempt at flirting, he couldn’t believe you weren’t attracted to him. Every girl on campus wanted him, so why didn’t you?

·༻𐫱༺·

You returned to your dorm, and thankfully, the disability services gave you a single with your own bathroom. You set your backpack down from class before hopping into a quick shower. To take your mind off things, you decided to draw a little. You keep a small sketchbook of all your favorite foods you’ve eaten. Whether it was restaurants, home-cooked meals, or fun things you’d bake, you added them to it. You took out your phone and sketched the photo of Tucker’s chicken and dumplings. Despite trying to reminisce about how good the dinner was, you kept thinking about Dean. His stupid blue eyes were on you when you were disappointed with your soup. Without even saying anything, he knew exactly what you wanted. You thought Garrett could only do that. How could a random guy I just met know what was wrong even though I didn’t say anything? You figured it was just a coincidence and continued sketching. 

You realized it was getting late and also remembered that your ASL class was tomorrow with the loud blonde. You sighed, finishing up your sketch and finishing your nighttime routine before setting your alarm and going to bed. Tomorrow’s definitely going to be a disaster. 

You walked into your ASL class expecting Dean to skip or back out. But surprisingly, he was there early, reading an ASL textbook. Unfortunately, he noticed you, waved, and called your name, excited to see you. You had been avoiding the stares from some of your classmates before you sat down next to him. You pulled out your laptop to work on some designs for another class. Shortly after, Dean peeked over your shoulder and couldn’t help but talk to you. 

“Woah! That’s so cool what class is that for?”

You opted to use a text box in the corner to type your responses. “It’s for 2D Design, I have to align some shapes.”

“It looks fun”

Then your professor walked in. They spoke while signing. Even though Dean missed the first week, they were going over the alphabet and the history of ASL. Dean surprisingly took out his own laptop, writing notes and pulling up visuals of hand signs. You, still focused on your design, weren’t paying attention. You already knew ASL, but the course was mandatory for students who utilize it daily or student interpreters. 

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be paying attention?”

“I already know ASL, if you didn’t know.”

“Some of this stuff is interesting you know, like how it can have different variations.”

“It is a language you know, not everyone has a thick New York accent.”

“Hey! I’m from Connecticut. Not everyone can be from Boston.” Dean fired back, placing heavy emphasis on saying "Boston" in an exaggerated Bostonian accent. You rolled your eyes as you finished up on your designs, which you planned to print later. You still had about 45 minutes of class left and opted to pull out your food sketchbook. You turned to the chicken-and-dumpling drawing to finish coloring it in and add some shading. Dean naturally couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

“Woah, is that Tucker’s dinner from last night?” You nodded.

“How do you get the soup to look like that cream color?”

You sighed, and then Dean caught himself for thinking what Garrett said. He realized he was probably talking too much and let you continue drawing in peace. Eventually, class ended, and you had finished the final picture. Dean, not wanting to bother you, started packing his bag and heading out. You tugged at his shirt, and he looked down at you. You showed him the final picture, and he looked at you in awe. 

“Y/N, this looks awesome! Do you mind if I take a photo of it to send to Tucker?” You nodded as he quickly grabbed his phone to snap a photo. He smiled at you before you both walked out of the classroom. The moment you stepped out, a group of girls walked over to Dean to talk to him. They didn’t even notice you, and one girl shoved past you, causing you to trip and drop your sketchbook. Some pages were falling out and getting trampled. You had tried to call out to Dean, but you couldn’t really scream or even say the word “Dean” yet.  You then opted to wave your hands in the air to where Dean saw your eyeline. Knowing Dean only knew the alphabet, you spelled it out simply. 

DEAN HELP

Dean squinted, trying to read the words you were spelling out, before he realized you were signing “help”. He excused all the girls out of the way to find you on the ground, trying to pick up your trampled sketches. 

“Everyone back up! You’re stepping on her things!” Dean shouted. Before all the girls cleared out to let Dean help you, they made comments about who this nobody is or why Dean is helping you. You ignored it and focused on making sure your sketches are ok. You realized the page you just finished had gotten crinkled, and there was mud and dirt all over it. You looked at it in disappointment and felt like crying. Dean saw your disappointed face and turned to face you. 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok, I took a photo of it, I can text it to you!” Dean handed you his phone. You typed in your number, and he made your contact name “Baby Graham”. He texted it to you, and you thanked him, changing his contact name to “Loud Blonde.” He apologized to the group of girls, saying it won't happen again. Maybe Dean wasn’t the most annoying for now. He escorted you outside the building, where Garrett was waiting. Dean had to head to another class, and he said his goodbyes. 

·༻𐫱༺·

“So, how was he?”

He was ok, still talked a little too much, but he left me alone when I was drawing. 

“That’s good, I told you he could tone it down.”

Can I ask you something, Garrett?

“Of course.”

Is Dean popular with girls?

Garrett reached behind his neck. “Unfortunately, the whole hockey team is flooded by girls. But Dean gets around, if you get what I mean. Why did something happen?”

Some girls just trampled us after class, and some stepped on some art I just finished. 

“You better believe I will be having another talk with him.”

It's ok, Garrett. He helped me and told them to go away. He said it won’t happen again.

“So, it wasn’t the end of the world having him around?”

I’d say he was tolerable. I still don’t hate him.

“I’ll take it as a win. If he continues to bother you, you let me know ok?”

You nodded as you headed to Garrett’s car. Garrett dropped you off at your dorm before heading back to his house. You worked on some homework for your typography class. A text from Dean pulled you out of your zone for a second. 

Loud Blonde: Hey, I just wanted to apologize again for earlier. The boys want to frame your drawing in the house lol. 

Baby Graham: It’s ok, I still have plenty of sketches in my book. 

You thought about how difficult it is not knowing how to say Dean’s name, and about how he’s going to be around you all semester. You probably should at least know how to say it in case something happens again. You call Garrett to ask for help and whip out a notebook to take phonetic notes. 

“What’s up, sis?”

You texted him, “Can you teach me how to say Dean?”

“Oh, sure. You’d take the de- from door. And you remember what you’d say when I’d take away your Barbies?”

“Mean.”

“Yeah, so the end -ean part and you put those two together.”

“Doorean.”

“Oh, just the D part, -duh” 

“Duh-ean”

“Better, but it’s one syllable. I texted how it's pronounced phonetically to you.”

“Deen?” 

“Yup, you got it. Just keep practicing it. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Nope.”

“Alright, goodnight sis, don’t stay up too late!”

·༻𐫱༺·

You kept practicing by saying it to yourself and looking up videos on how people pronounce it. After a few tries, you got it mostly down. You finished up the rest of your work before heading to bed. You woke up, packed your bags, and headed to the campus cafe before your classes. You got a quick coffee before putting your headphones in, listening to music, and walking to your class. As you're looking at your phone, you hear someone calling your name over your music. You paused it and turned to see Garrett’s curly-haired friend. 

“Hey! Y/N!”

“Oh, hi.”

“My name's Tucker, in case you forgot. Are you also heading to a pre-calculus class?”

You nodded. 

“Nice, I’m also in that class. Sorry if you’re confused, but I’m also a Freshman here at Briar. I just got an off-campus living exemption for being on the hockey team. Do you want to head to class together?”

You agreed as you both quietly strolled to class. You also gave Tucker your number so you could easily communicate with him. He wasn’t as loud as Dean and enjoyed being in the moment, enjoying the weather. It was nice. You both sat together as you brought out your tablet for notes, while Tucker was busy on his laptop watching some hockey highlights. You texted him, nosy about what he was doing. 

Y/N Graham: Why are you watching Harvard’s hockey highlights?

Tucker: We have a game this weekend, Gar is drilling all the freshman on studying how they play. He really wants us to win.

Y/N Graham: Sounds like my brother alright.

Tucker: There’s a lot of extra pressure since they’re our rivals. The whole team is kind of on edge.

Y/N Graham: If my brother gives you guys a hard time, you let me know. I’ll knock some sense into him. 

Tucker laughed as you both went back to each other’s work. You took notes and practice problems, while Tucker wrote down formations and potential strategies. You compared this experience to Dean. It was calm, no forced conversation, just both of you in your own worlds. Even though you appreciated how much quieter Tucker was, a small part of you wished someone would text or tap your shoulder every 10 minutes. Time had passed so quickly that the lecture was over, and both of you stepped out to see Garrett, Hannah, Logan, and Dean waiting for Tucker. 

“There he is. Did you see the new videos I sent you?” Garrett motioned to Tucker. 

“Yeah, I also tried to come up with some ideas to try on the ice.”

Garrett then turned to you. “I hope he didn’t distract you in class.”

Nope. Unlike him, I actually took notes on our pre-calculus lecture. 

Garrett turned back to Tucker. “So, what do you know about the unit circle?" Tucker looked dumbfounded. Ashamed about being caught for not paying attention in class, Tucker kindly asked if he could have your notes. You smiled, motioning that you’d text it to him. You then saw Hannah pop up behind Garrett. She signed 

Hello, my name is Hannah. I’m Garrett’s girlfriend.

I know, he really likes you.

Hannah smiled at your response. You appreciated that at least his girlfriend is trying better than Dean did. Speak of the devil, the annoying blonde couldn't help but chirp up at you. He looked excited to show you something. 

Hello, Y/N.

Hello, Dean.

How was class?

Good.

“Did you see that? Was that good?” Dean looked down at you in anticipation. You nodded, and Dean excitedly cheered. “He practiced that conversation a hundred times with Garrett. Your name alone took thirty minutes.” Logan jumped in, putting his arm around Dean. 

You were impressed. Maybe the blonde wasn’t as dumb as you thought. 

“Yo, are we all heading back to the house? Y/N, you’re always invited.” Tucker motioned. 

Garrett quickly looked, counting that not everyone could fit in his car. 

“Logan, Dean, did either of you bring your car?”

Dean pulled his keys from his pocket, jingling them. “Who’s riding with me?”

Logan and Tucker were fighting, playing rock, paper, scissors to see who’d get to ride in Dean’s car. Unfortunately, Tucker lost. You all started to walk towards the parking lot when you opened the car door to a strong smell of stinky hockey gear and saw one of the seats down to fit Garrett’s hockey sticks. 

“Oh shoot, I forgot I had my gear in here.” Garrett put his hand on his forehead. 

Logan was about to offer you his seat when you stopped him, insisting he could go. Garrett translated that you mentioned that Logan fought for that seat fair and square and you’d go with Dean. Before you went with them, Garrett pulled Dean aside.

“If anything happens to my baby sister, you are dead, Di Laurentis.” 

Dean assured Garrett nothing would happen before walking off to Dean’s car. It was a silver BMW sports car. You could tell it was expensive. Tucker, being the gentleman, let you sit in the passenger seat while he sat in the back. Thankfully, his car just smelled like musk and whatever cologne Dean wears. He had leather seats and fancy buttons all over the car. 

“Better than Garrett’s car right?” Dean smirked.

“No.”

“C’mon, his smelly Jeep is not better than mine.” Dean pouted. 

You huffed and looked away from him. 

“I’ll prove it to you.”

Dean turned his car on, and it let out a roar. That didn’t really impress you, but his phone automatically connected and started to play “Party Monster” by The Weeknd. You turned your head to stare at it. 

“Oh? You like The Weeknd? He’s one of my favorite artists.” 

You nodded when you saw that Dean’s backup camera was extra special, with overhead, rear, and side views. You noticed the lights in his car bounced to the beats of the song, and there was basically a huge tablet as his control panel. During the quick 10-minute drive, you took the time to watch Dean as a driver. He was smooth, driving with one hand, and was very fluid. You had never seen him so focused. He drove surprisingly safely. You were sure he would speed or try to race Garrett home. But it was anticlimactic to say the least. You all made it to the house before getting out of his car, thanking him for driving. Tucker opened the house door for you and let you in first.

·༻𐫱༺·

You walked in to see Hannah sprawled out with her legs on Garrett as he had now transitioned to putting the hockey highlights on their TV. Tucker and Dean groaned at the sight of it. 

“G, seriously, we’ve been at this all day let’s take a break.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“If we want to beat this guys, we have to study their new freshman, too.” Garrett showed a 20+ video playlist of highlights from all the players. You all looked in horror. You tapped Garrett on the shoulder.

Give them a break, you guys will be fine. Don’t get all stressed because Dad’s coming.

Dean noticed parts of what you said. Specifically, you mentioned that Garrett’s dad will be coming. It made him understand why Garrett was so intense about this game.

“Fine, everyone do their homework. But after dinner we’re watching this!” 

The group sighed in relief before they all split off. Before Garrett went into his room with Hannah, you had asked him if he had any scissors at the house because you needed them for a project.

“Yo, do any of you guys have scissors?”

“I have some kitchen scissors if that works?” Tucker asked. You shook your head, not wanting food or to ruin his blades with your materials. 

“I have a pair in my room, you can come with me.” Dean noted. You reluctantly followed him to his room. Unlike Garrett, he was a little messier. The bed wasn’t made, a basket full of laundry was on the floor, and his desk was covered in books. Even though it was messy, it smelled nice like cedarwood and pepper. You noticed an “ASL For Beginners” Book on there and smiled. Dean rummaged through his desk, found it, and handed it to you. You thanked him before heading downstairs. Dean, being curious, followed you down and watched your every step. Seeing you pull out the designs you worked on the other day, along with some other construction paper. He asked you about each step in the process, but you reluctantly replied in basic ASL or via text. 

It was strange that everything you told Dean fascinated him. It was like you were from another world and he was just born yesterday. You never thought you’d be sitting at the kitchen counter teaching a 6-foot-2 blonde how negative space works. He’d look at you with those innocent blue eyes, eager to find out what you’d say next. You noticed he would hold back more than the first time you met him, offering to help or bringing down his own work to leave you alone to do your project. He’d occasionally chime in to ask if you wanted a glass of water, snacks, or something to complement your progress. Unlike Tucker, it was nice to have someone who constantly cheered you on and checked in on you. Even though you were listening to your music, Dean would always find some way to get your attention. At one point, he found himself cutting out shapes for you. He’d ask you if it was right before handing it to you, looking in anticipation each time. 

·༻𐫱༺·

Garrett walked down with Hannah, commenting on the sight. 

“Interesting, I’ve never seen Dean be so gentle with…construction paper?” Hannah turned to Garrett for a reaction. Garrett had a confused and angry look. 

“What is he doing?”

“Aw c’mon Gar, they look cute.”

“Don’t you dare, if Dean makes a move-”

“Relax, he’s just helping her. I’m sure it's harmless. I mean you know Dean, he’s definitely busy with a bunch of puck bunnies. Plus, if she was annoyed I’m sure she’d text you to rescue her.”

Garrett and Hannah joined Tucker and Logan on the couch, who were fighting over a video game. It was strange to see Dean get along with you, let alone with a few words. Usually, when a girl came over, Dean would be all over her, or you could hear loud laughter from upstairs. It was eerily quiet to see both of you quietly working without much noise. Logan turned to notice Garrett had come back downstairs.

“Hey G? When are we heading to Malone’s? The team’s asking for an informal meeting.” 

“We’ll go in a few, depends on if Dean’s done playing arts and crafts.”

Dean’s head perked up. “Hey! I’m learning the importance of color theory!”

You smiled at his comment and turned your head to look at Garrett, worried.

What’s wrong, Garrett?

Nothing. Is Dean bothering you?

No, he’s helping me. I’ll be done in 10 minutes. 

“Do you want to join us at Malone’s? You can meet the rest of the team.” Dean interjected.

You were scared Dean understood your and Garrett’s conversation and nodded. 

“Great! I can’t wait to watch you draw a Malone’s burger.” 

·༻𐫱༺·

You and the group piled into the same groups, and you all pulled up to Malone’s. The group walked in as a giant roar of cheers came from a group of men that you assumed was the hockey team. Dean floated over and looked like he was his usual loud self. You, wanting to avoid dealing with a bunch of hockey jocks, drifted over to the bar and sat on a stool. You pulled out your sketchbook, intrigued by the food and atmosphere. 

“Hey! You’re Garrett’s sister right?” A girl with brown wavy hair asked you. 

You nodded, “Yeah, Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you Y/N! I’m Allie, Hannah’s roommate, can I get you anything?”

You pointed at a glass of water. Allie nodded as she poured you one. You then noticed a flood of girls come in. They squealed, pointed at the hockey team, and immediately went over to flirt with them. You saw various girls fawn all over Dean. Garrett wasn’t kidding. Girls love the hockey boys. You watched as Dean smiled, wrapping his arms around them. For some reason, you felt a twang against your heart. Watching Dean flirt and banter so easily. You wish you could match his energy as those girls did. From far away, it looked like they were a well-oiled machine, never losing steam every chance they opened their stupid mouths. Shit. Why did you care? He’s your brother’s best friend. He probably would want someone who could talk back anyway. 

You had always found it hard to date, which was why you never did. You believed no one could ever be understanding enough to learn ASL for you or be patient when you’d type out a response. The only person who would do that is. You thought Dean would be a refreshing change of heart, but he seemed to prefer the company of those girls anyway. As long as they were around, you were invisible, just like the other day after class.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” Allie perked behind you. You swiveled in your bar stool to face her. You tipped your head towards the crowd.

“Ah, the puck bunnies? They’re a bunch of girls who are obsessed with hockey and hockey players. Don’t worry about Garrett though, he’s very loyal to Hannah.”

If only that’s what you were worried about. Whatever, at least Dean won’t be bothering you tonight. You sipped on your water as you sketched out the interior of Malone’s. A few minutes later, you felt a small tap on your shoulder. You anticipated Dean, but were surprised to see Logan. 

“Hey, how are you holding up? G sent me over to check on you.”

You gave him a thumbs up. 

“You want something? I promise I won’t tell G.”

“No thank you.” You quickly replied before focusing on your drawing. 

“That looks sick, G always mentioned you were a talented artist. I’ll see you around.”

Allie served Logan a beer before nodding to you and heading back to the crowd. You then watched Logan report to Garrett as he smiled and texted you. 

Garrett: If you ever want to leave, just text me, and we’ll go.

You gave him a smile before focusing back on your sketch, starting to outline it in pen.

·༻𐫱༺·

You then heard a larger crowd enter. You assumed there were more students before you heard whispers and rustling. It was a group of guys who looked similar in build to the hockey team. You figured they were on the football or lacrosse team. You felt their presence come up behind you. 

“Who’s this pretty girl?” A guy started.

Another yanked your sketchbook out of your hands and dangled it in the air. “Look, she’s a little Picasso with all these drawings. Why don’t you focus on me instead?”

You were completely flustered. You weren’t sure whether you should punch one of them or scream loud enough to break their eardrums. 

“Hey, you’re Garrett Graham’s sister, right? The one who can’t talk? I’ve always wanted to date a girl who can’t talk back.” Another guy leaned, laughing very close to your face. You had had enough and threw your glass of water at his face.

“Asshole.” You slapped him in the face. 

The whole room then focused its attention on the scene you just caused.

“Why, you little bitch, I’ll teach you to shut up for good.” One started to charge at you before you felt a large set of arms pull you behind him. You, thinking it was Garrett, instinctively hugged the back of him, bracing for what would happen. 

“You bastards need to leave her alone. Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Dean threatened. Wait a minute. Dean? Shit. You were holding onto Dean for dear life. Dean could sense your arms shaking. 

“She slapped me and threw the water at me first! We were just messing with her.”

“You think it’s funny to mess with someone who can’t easily speak up for herself? Imagine if someone was beating you down and you couldn’t scream for help, then what?” 

“C’mon Di Laurentis, she’s just a quiet, weird, art nerd, is she really worth your time?” That comment made your eyes burn. Sure, you were more of the artsy type, but the dumb lacrosse meathead was right. Why is Dean wasting his time on you?

“She is. She is a million times kinder, gentler, and better yet, quieter than your annoying loud mouth.” You peeled yourself off Dean before tugging on his shirt to have him look down at you. He flashed you a bright smile before turning back to the other loudmouth. 

“So either get the fuck out of Malone’s or I’ll make you.” Dean got closer to the guy’s face. He huffed and gestured for the rest of the team to leave, cursing Dean as he went. Dean turned back to you and crouched down to your level. 

“Are you ok? Did he touch you or anything?”

“No.” 

“Good.” Dean brought you in for a brief hug. 

A girl floated by to gush over Dean. She put a hand on his shoulder and brushed his bicep and explained how manly and sexy it was to see him go to bat to defend someone. You meekly turned your head away, jumping back to reality. Dean probably only sees you as your brother’s sister. Swooping in to protect you because he promised Garrett he would. Not because he had any feelings for you. Why in the world would Dean Di Laurentiis even go out with someone like you? You’re complete opposites. 

·༻𐫱༺·

Garrett quickly got up to check on you. You assured him you were okay, and he insisted on taking you home. Hannah insisted she’d just get a ride from Logan or Dean, so you and Garrett left to drop her off at her dorm. Shortly after you got back, you decompressed what just happened. Slightly overwhelmed, you began to cry, upset at yourself for putting yourself in that dangerous situation. You were also angry at Dean for coming in to help you when you wished it were Garrett. It would help your head stop spiraling as you replay what Dean said about you. You heard a knock on your door. It was probably the RA coming to do room checks, but you opened the door to see Dean. 

“Hey, you left your sketchbook at Malone’s, I thought you’d want it back.”

“Thanks, Duh-ean”

“Duh-ean, I like it,” Dean laughed to himself. 

You wanted to slap yourself for saying that in front of him. 

“It’s ok, don’t be so hard on yourself about it.” Dean noticed your puffy eyes and red nose. 

“Have you been crying?” Dean asked. 

You were quiet. 

“Do you mind if I come in? You could use a friend if you want to talk about it.” You debated the idea before looking up at his eyes. They had genuine concern. Not wanting him to report back to Garrett and have Garrett pester you all night, you let him in. 

You both sat on your floor against the wall next to your shoe rack. 

“So, what’s going on?”

I’m overwhelmed

“I know.” Dean put his arm around you and pulled you into his chest.

“I’m sorry I jumped in like that, I know you can handle yourself. Nice move with the water though.”

“Thanks.” You giggled.

“I was worried about you. Trust me they won’t be bothering you anymore.”

You smiled.

“I went through your sketches. You really are talented.” Dean turned to a page, and it was a sketch of a purple orchid.

"This one is my favorite." Dean noted.

“Mom.”

“Mom? Is this your mother’s favorite flower?”

“Yeah. Orchids.”

“It’s beautiful.” 

You both had a moment looking at it. Dean could notice every small stroke you made and the little details in each petal. After seeing your sketch, Dean was at a loss for words for the first time. You hadn’t seen this sketch in a while. It was one of the things you drew when you missed your mom. A tear lightly rolled down your cheek. Dean noticed, cupped your cheek, and wiped it away with his thumb. You looked beautiful, your skin glowing from the galaxy projector you turned on at night. Dean lightly pulled away and apologized. 

“Sorry, I know you’ve had a rough night. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Dean removed his arm from you. You two just sat in silence. Dean wanted to say something so badly to break the silence, but held back, not trying to ruin the moment. You were so different than the girls Dean would usually go for. They'd always want to talk or gush about him, it was refreshing to just sit in silence and enjoy each other's presence. You slowly reached out to hold Dean’s hand. 

“Thanks, Dean.” You spoke.

Dean turned to you. “Hey, you got it right this time, good job, Y/N.” Dean reached to pat your head. “And don’t mention it. You Graham’s can easily hold your own.” Dean continued to stroke your hair.

A few minutes had passed, and Dean was about to say something before he heard light snoring against his shoulder. You had passed out from dozing off at your projector, with Dean's warmth next to you. Dean smiled as he gently lifted you off of him and carried you bridal style towards your bed. You were half asleep as he placed you down. He brushed hair out of your face before Dean tucked you in. He had turned to leave when you grabbed his arm. You gestured to him to come closer to you. He bent down to meet you at eye level. You kissed him on the forehead. 

“Sweet. Dean. Thank you.” 

You couldn’t see it, but Dean felt a light blush rush to his ears. If he had a tail, it would be wagging, patting against the floor. 

Dean smiled, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Dean left quietly, closing the door behind you, this was the first time Dean didn’t want to leave a girl’s room. But you’re Garrett’s sister. What’s he thinking?

Dean got back to the house to find Garrett waiting for him, anticipating his sister. 

“How is she? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine Gar, she’s strong-willed, just like her big brother.” Dean patted his side as they both went up to their rooms.

Dean didn’t even notice his phone had blown up from a bunch of puck bunnies, the team, and the roommates texting him. When he was with you, he was in another world, ignoring all the noise from the outside. Dean ignored the text from Puck Bunnies and was torn about whether to admit he had feelings for you. For one, Garrett would murder him, and for two, he didn’t want to hurt you. He hated seeing you sad. The night you met, he felt it. He didn’t know that one simple look could give his heart a small poke. Seeing you with those puffy eyes made him only want to beat up the entire lacrosse team. As Dean lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, he pondered what in the world he should do. 

·༻𐫱༺·

By the end of the week, it was finally the day of the hockey game. It was a weekend, so you got to sleep in a bit for once. Your mind kept drifting to that night with Dean. Even so, your dreams were flooded with him, always ending with you kissing him, causing you to wake up as if it were a nightmare. But it wasn’t. You were more worried about the idea of Garrett finding out. Fuck, you like Dean Di Laurentis. The game went just as planned. Briar nearly won, 3-2 in overtime. Garrett and Logan scored goals, and you saw Dean body nearly half of Harvard’s bench. As you were walking towards the locker room to congratulate them, right outside the door, you heard some familiar voices.

“Well, aren’t we lucky boys? It's the little water tossing bitch from Malone’s”

“Stop.” You warned.

“Or what? You’re going to throw water at me again? Oh wait, I don't see any.” The cocky lacrosse player laughed.

You backed up towards the wall until you felt a large cup of ice-cold water fall on your head. You screeched out at how cold it was, and now you were drenched in water.

“Wow, for a girl who’s mute, you surely can scream.” 

Garrett immediately recognized your scream and ran out, fresh out of a shower. He almost broke the door off with how hard he slammed it open. Naturally, his teammates, including Dean, ran out to see you, crying and drenched in water. 

“You motherfuckers.” Garrett noted before punching one of the guys on the lacrosse team. All the other teammates jumped in to punch some other guys before the staff and coaches broke them up. Garrett and Dean got pretty beaten up. Hannah pulled Garrett off and walked him towards the medical area. You helped Dean up and noticed him wincing against his chest and arms. Dean thanked you as he looked up at you. 

“You’re wet, we should get you to the medical team, they can warm you up.”

“Dean.” 

“What?”

“Chest. Arm. Pain?”

“I’m f-fine, I promise.” 

“Liar.”

“Fine, I’ll go if you go.”

You agreed, holding onto him as he hobbled towards one of the medical rooms they typically use for PT. They gave you a towel and blankets as they propped Dean up on the examiner’s table. The athletic trainer motioned for Dean to take off his shirt, and he obliged, catching you off guard as you looked away, lightly blushing. You could see the various black-and-blue bruises on Dean’s body out of the corner of your eye. You knew what he did was taxing on his body, but seeing it only made you feel pain. Dean hissed as the trainer stretched him out and asked if various places hurt. 

“Good work, Di Laurentis, you didn’t fracture anything. Just ice your face tonight. Your girlfriend can help you hold it up for you.” 

You waved your arms, trying to deny it.

Dean laughed and thanked him as the trainer left the two of you alone. Dean tried to get up and winced before you walked up to help him. You were still a little cold, so you clung to Dean’s warmth. 

“Warm.”

“Gee thanks, for a second there I thought you were trying to help me.”

You hit him on the arm, causing him to drop his ice pack. You picked it up and handed it back to him. A little hurt, he pouted. 

“Wow, my ‘girlfriend’ is already trying to kill me.”

You wanted to punch him again, but he’s lucky he’s beaten up and needs your help. Garrett and Hannah catch up with both of you walking in the hallway. Garrett runs up to you. 

“Y/N! My sweet baby sister, are you alright, they didn’t hit you did they?”

“No, only water.” 

Garrett gave out a relieved sigh, mentioning that he and Hannah are heading out soon. Dean offered to drive you home, and Garrett didn’t argue. He trusted Dean. Plus, it looked like he needed someone to help him to his car. You helped Dean into the locker room, helping him pack his hockey bag as he lugged it over his shoulder. You were still on his other side, helping him walk. Even though he was limping, he reached to open the passenger side door for you. He slowly but surely got into the driver’s side, still wincing at his pain. 

Are you sure you’re ok to drive?

“Yes, I don’t want my ‘girlfriend’ to worry.” You were shocked at how much ASL Dean could comprehend in a week. 

Why do you keep saying that?

“I like it because I think it suits you.” 

You went quiet, staring at him. 

“U-Unless you don’t like it, I’ll stop saying it. You know what? Just forget about that whole thing together. It was a really funny joke? Haha?”

You kept staring at the bumbling idiot. 

“You don’t like it. Or do you like it? Just give me a sign Y/N!” Dean put his face into the wheel, causing the car to let out a small beep. 

“I like you, Dean.” 

Dean pulled his head up and pulled you in for a hug. 

“Are you sure? Did I say it too soon? I wasn’t sure how you felt.” Dean held the sides of your shoulders. You leaned into him for a gentle kiss. 

“I don’t hate you.”

“But…you like me right?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“What about Garrett?”

How about we just keep this our secret, for now? You winked. 

“Now we need our own secret language to flirt around Garrett, is there a Pig Latin version of ASL?”

You laughed as you both drove off to the house, then arrived and helped Dean up the stairs. You gave him one more kiss before going inside. 

“Boyfriend.” You spoke.

“Girlfriend.” Dean replied, smiling brighter than he had ever before. He’d been waiting for you to say those words and can’t wait to hear them again. 

A/N: This fic was so fun to write! I hope you guys enjoyed! Sorry that this one took a little longer, I just kept adding and adding more to it! Next fic will also be about Dean so stay tuned!

Edit: Due to popular demand, I will be adding a part 2 so lookout for it!!

[imaginingmanyfandoms]

i’ll be leaving with you | jake seresin

summary: you've loved bradley bradshaw for years, watching him choose well - not you for years. jake seresin loves you so much he's willing to put his needs aside to help you with rooster if that means you won't take a job offer that takes you off the island.

warnings: angst, fluff, smut (p in v, oral f recieving) bradley is kind of a douchebag, jake is yearning, jake down so bad, reader is female

a/n: first top gun fic, hope yall are still in the market

"I once heard a rumour that pretty girls aren't supposed to sit outside of a party by themselves." Jake smiles, that easy, charming smile he always had for you. "But that's just a rumour."

He slides beside you, tucked in close, passing you a beer, acting nonchalant when your fingers brush against his.

Jake has perfected the act of pretending that you're not everything he's ever wanted. But he's hasn't mastered the art of letting go. He knows, he knows that you're meant to be his, that you were made for him. He's almost positive he wished for you over birthday candles once.

"What're you doing out here, sweetheart?"

You don't answer, but your eyes lead his, landing on Rooster with some leggy redhead tucked between his legs, he smiles easily while she plays with the collar of his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt.

"He's an idiot," Jake sighs, "and you deserve better than him anyway."

You shrug.

You'd known Bradley for years. You both went to the same university, where you took medicine, becoming a doctor. You fell in love with him at school, but never tried anything, always thinking it was never the right time. But anytime you thought maybe you should move on, Bradley did something, just enough, to keep you hanging on.

Jake's eyes narrow over the ocean. He knows Bradley knows about your feelings. They've never talked about it, but how could Rooster not know.

Jake's been watching Rooster string you along for the better part of a year, and it makes him sick. How could Bradshaw just, waste away his time like that? The perfect woman, smart, funny, kind, beautiful. A fucking doctor for crying out loud - who better to be with a Navy man? Someone who understands that there's risks in life, someone that understands how precious time is.

"You should make him jealous," Jake finds himself saying, surprising both you and him.

"What?"

"You know," Jake continues, not sure where the words are coming from. "Make him jealous, make him make a move."

"Oh yeah? And how exactly would I do that? I've been on dates and he never cared, he's seen me kiss guys, and he just... he doesn't care, Jake. He doesn't want me."

Jake frowns. "I told you. He's an idiot."

"They offered me a job in Parkland Memorial Hospital in the emergency room."

Alarm bells ring in Jake's head. You can't be talking about... leaving? Leaving. Leaving!?

"I'm thinking about it - thinking space might do some good, I can finally, finally just... get over it."

"You can't just leave," Jake says, hand gripping the railing so hard one of his knuckles crack.

"I can't keep this cycle up, Jake." You look at him, his tense jaw, how his eyes stay focused at one point in the distance. There's no denying how beautiful Hangman is. Your eyes flit over to Rooster, who's pulling the girl closer. You look away before you have to see them kiss. "I'm tired."

"I'll help you," he says, and he's once again unsure where the words are coming from. But if making Rooster make a move is the only way Jake gets to keep you in his life, then he'll do it. He can't lose you. He won't. "And if it doesn't work in a month, I'm sure that job'll be there for you, or a better one."

You don't answer, and Jake takes that as a maybe.

Anything, anything would be better than you packing your bags.

The next day, you're sitting in your office on base, finishing sending in inventory for the medical supplies you need.

Not too much happens on base, anything really bad ends up sent to the hospital with you in the back of the ambulance providing care. It's not that exciting - which is good, exciting work for a doctor usually means someone is seriously injured.

But here you are, asking for more gauze and tape, and that's okay too.

A knock on the door followed by, "Hey doc," breaks you out of your trance, and Jake comes strolling in, small smile on his lips as he glides over, leaning on your desk beside you. "How are you feeling today?"

"Right as rain, Jake."

"Mmm," he mumbles, looking at the papers on your desk, before running his gaze over your face. He's noticed that your lips have been holding a soft pout for weeks, like you've given up on a dream. It makes his blood boil. He wants to fix it. He leans back a bit, arms crossed on one foot crossed over the other, and he keeps his eyes on you. "You think more about that job offer?"

You sigh, "No, not really. It's ... hard. I want to make the decision that's best for me and not base it off of Bradley." Your shoulders slouch, "but I - I just have no idea what to do. All my friends are here, I love my job."

"So stay," Jake says, "Don't run from where you are over Chicken."

For the first time, ever, you don't tell Jake not to call Bradley that. You just smile, finally looking up at Jake. He takes the moment head on, and leans towards you. One hand on your desk, the other on the back of your chair, legs spreading wide in a way that makes your breath hitch - but if Jake notices he doesn't comment on it.

"There are lots of things here that can make things better, you know."

You're so close to him.

You've never been this close to him.

No one ever understood the friendship you two have. Nat thought it was odd, the way that Jake seemed to gravitate towards you, always finding you a sea of people, like he was magnetically drawn to you. But he never made a move, never talked about you in ways he's talked about other women, never expected you to fall at his feet. And rarely ever laid down the moves he so easily threw at beautiful people. Nat noticed recently that Jake's been on a dry spell - and doing absolutely nothing to change it. Even when women threw themselves at him, he just smiled politely, and got you another drink.

Unfortunately, you saw this as platonic - how? No one knows. Everyone else can see it for what it is. Payback and Fanboy have a bet going about who confesses first, you to Bradley or Jake to you. Fanboy bet on you confessing, Payback on Jake. Coyote wants Jake to get the girl. Bob silently hopes you find a nice, stable man outside of the military because he adores you and doesn't think either Hangman or Bradley deserve you. While Natasha and Halo just want you to be happy.

"Jake, I..."

The door opens, and both of you snap your attention to the person, Bradley, obviously, walking in.

He hesitates, eyeing the closeness between you guys suspiciously.

"Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

You say no the same time Jake says yes. And you both look at each other, smiling like you're sharing an inside joke.

"Did you need something, Rooster?" Jake asks, and you hit his chest playfully.

"Come in, Bradley. Everything okay?" You ask, pushing up from the desk and gliding around Jake's arm, which makes the chair roll back and he has to catch himself, praying you didn't see that.

"Yeah..." he starts, "I just have this... uh," Brad looks at Jake. "Can I maybe talk to you privately?"

"Of course," you nod, "Jake?"

"I'm going," he rolls his eyes. "Lunch?"

"Yeah, I'll see you then."

"I'll bring you something."

Jake smiles, winking at Bradley, who is still looking at you with confusion written over his expression.

When Jake leaves, Bradley's eyes trace over you - looking for something.

"What's wrong?" you ask, looking him over for injuries.

"It's nothing just... I have a really bad sunburn on my back is all, wanted something for it," he explains, and you move to the cabinets to get some cream for him.

"I should still look at it," you say, "take your shirt off."

As he does, he talks, "what was Jake in here for?"

"You can't ask me that. Turn around," you spin your fingers, and he obeys.

"Right, yeah," he mutters, "didn't really seem like a clinical thing though."

"Bradley, stop." You look over the burn, it's red sure, but doesn't really seem that bad. With gloves on, you rub some of the ointment over it. It should make you blush maybe, but this is your clinic, and your job, and you don't take the moment as anything more than what it is. Being a doctor. "Just put this on again before bed, and in the morning if you need it. If it doesn't go away, come back. But it looks fine."

Bradley nods, but doesn't move. Doesn't put his shirt back on.

"You didn't say goodbye last night."

"Huh?" you ask, "I didn't see you all night, I didn't think I had to."

"Oh, you don't, I guess, but..." he looks down, "you usually come say bye."

"Me and Jake head out early," you explain, shrugging, indignation rising in your chest. Who was he to complain? He was wrapped up in someone else anyway... were you meant to tap him on the shoulder and wait for their lips to break apart just so you could say goodbye to someone you hadn't even spoken to that night?

"Together?"

"Yeah, he wanted to make sure I got home, I had a bit more than normal." You move to your desk, filling out a sheet to add to Bradley's file. It doesn't really need a sunburn update, but you do it anyway, for something to do with your hands under Bradley's intense stare.

"Right, okay..."

"Is that okay?"

"Of course it is, I'm just... checking in on you, that's all." Bradley finally puts his shirt back on. "Do you, are you going to the gala next week?"

"Yes," you say, instantly, too instantly.

"Me too," he says, "I was thinking we could go together."

"Oh?" your hand stills, your heart races. Is... is he asking you out? Did Bradley Bradshaw fake the pain to come to your office? Is this really happening? All these years of pining, and yearning, are they ending? You almost say yes, but then he speaks again.

"We used to go to stuff like this as friends all the time, and I thought... It would be fun to do it again, is all, better than standing around alone. My date bailed when she saw me take home this girl last night - she was so pissed off, you should hear the voicemail she left."

Your heart shatters.

It's so loud and painful you're almost sure he can hear it.

"I already have a date."

You say it before you can think about it. It comes out in a snap and you can't take it back.

"Oh," is all he says.

"Yeah," you say, trying to find the excuse out of this, you land on, "Jake asked me to go with him."

"Hangman? You can't be serious." You can practically hear Bradley roll his eyes as you tuck the paper into his file.

"Why not?"

"He's... he's Hangman!" Bradley has never raised his voice to you before, and he doesn't yell, but the tone he uses is something you've never heard directed at you as he says, "you're going to be Hangman's date!?"

"What's so bizarre about that?" you ask, turning to face him finally.

"He's not good enough for you and you know that."

You both stare at each other, arms crossed, angry faces mirroring each other. This is as close as you've come to a fight, ever. Usually you would back down, but you're... offended, on Jake's behalf. Jake has always been a perfect gentleman to you, and a great friend. He's been an amazing friend to you, actually.

"Jake is wonderful. Now if you don't need anymore medical attention, I have work to do."

You answer leaves no room to argue. Bradley leaves - without saying goodbye, one might point out, and closing the door harder than he needs to, enough to make your shoulders flinch. His attitude left a bad taste in your mouth, and you don't like it at all.

Rooster comes back to the group hot headed and ready to blow.

The air is tense, made more tense every time Jake cracked a joke, or answered a question, or did anything.

When Mav leaves them for a moment to talk to Cyclone about something, Nat finally asks what the problem is.

"Ask Bagman," Rooster mutters, rolling his eyes.

Jake scowls, "Hey, what the hell did I do?"

"You're taking her to the gala?" Rooster crosses his arms, and pouts like a schoolboy. No one has to ask who he's talking about.

An easy grin lands on Jake's face, and it only irritates Rooster more. Jake, being the guy he is, goes along with it. He never actually asked you - but absolutely would love to have you on his arm for the night. So he's all too happy to play along. He's all too happy to be your date.

"And what's the problem?" is all Jake asks.

"You're my fucking problem!"

"Well," Jake shrugs, "you snooze, you lose, brother."

Rooster is quick to anger. And pushes Jake before the others can grab him. Jake just laughs, walking a few steps back and out of Rooster's reach.

"Don't get mad at me for wanting her," Jake says, and it's earnest, he means it, they all know he does. "You just don't want anyone else to have her in case you change your mind, and honestly, Chicken? That's so messed up."

"You don't know anything." Rooster pushes Fanboy off, but he stays close by, in case Rooster lunges again.

"I know that she is special, and I know that she deserves the world. And I know that you could never give that to her, so I will." Jake glares at Rooster. "And I'll do it better than you ever could, and I'll do it fucking gladly. Because being in her orbit, well that's a goddamn honour, and I will not be squandering it like you did."

Nat and Bob share a look that says... damn - maybe Jake is the one. Everyone is quiet. Rooster is breathing heavily, jaw ticking in anger, but Jake is cool as can be, not worried in the slightest. Coyote puts a hand on Jake's shoulder, and the two share a smile.

When Mav returns he senses the tension, but he doesn't say anything about it, just gets back to business.

And both Rooster and Hangman both have you on the mind.

At lunch, Jake shows up with two meals in hand.

You're at your desk again, looking over paperwork when he strolls in, just happy to see you.

"You're in luck, Doc," he says, "they're serving your favourite today."

A bright smile crosses your face when he sets the food down. Jake hesitates, only briefly, and decides it's okay to lay a soft kiss on your hairline as he hands you your meal.

"Thanks, Jake," you sigh, "I like... I like when you come here for lunch."

His heart flips. His cheeks feel warm and he knows the tips of his ears are turning pink at your admission.

"I like coming here," he says softly, pulling up a stool to sit beside you.

"It must be nice to get away from the chaos for a bit."

He shrugs, "I don't mind the chaos, I just like spending time with you."

"Big softie," you smile.

"Don't let the others know."

A knock on the door makes him tense, but he relaxes when Nat comes into the room. He thought maybe Rooster was coming to talk you out of going with Jake to the gala.

"Hey Doc," she says, "Hey, Bagman."

"Nix," Jake says, "she's not doing walk-ins, she's taking her lunch."

You hit him on the arm, laughing. "He doesn't speak for me, you okay?"

"Oh yeah, I'm fine, I actually just came by to invite you out later. Me, Halo and some of the other girls are going for drinks later and thought you might like to come."

"Oh," you say, "that sounds great!"

"Perfect, I was hoping you'd say that." Nat looks at Hangman, who isn't being annoying, miraculously, and he's just unwrapping your food before his own, like it's the most normal thing in the world. She can't help but note how much different he is when it comes to you, and it's... endearing, in a way. "We'll swing by your place to pick you up."

"Just text me the time," you say, "I can't wait, I need a girls night."

"Anytime."

Natasha leaves, hurrying to find Bob because she needs to debrief both the fight, and Jake sitting at your table setting up your plate immediately. It was almost domestic, and she needs to talk about it.

"You know what happened earlier?" Jake asked, and you shook your head. "Rooster pushed me after finding out I'm going to be your date next week."

"He pushed you? Oh, I'm so sorry Jake, I should've asked first but it just came out," you flush, looking him over like he'd told you that he was pushed down a flight of stairs.

"No, it's okay," he smiles, "would you like to go with me? It'd be an honour to take you."

"You don't have to," you rush, "I swear, I can just tell him I was lying. I don't know why I did that."

"Stop apologizing. I'm asking you because I would like to go with you. It would be fun."

"As friends?"

Jake looks at his plate, then you. "I mean yeah, we are friends. But it would still be a date. I pick you up, I get your drinks, we dance. Just because we're friends doesn't mean you're not getting the full treatment."

Something clicks in your head.

You're not entirely sure what.

But there are butterflies in your stomach, and it just feels... easy. Like how you wanted it to feel when Bradley asked you. With Jake it's, nicer. It feels better. It feels right. You don't know what it means, but you like it. You like being around Jake.

"I'd love to."

"Good," he smiles, "now eat, before one of those knuckleheads needs something else."

Jake gets a call at one in the morning.

He wants to ignore it, but he worries that it's his mother. He worries even more when he sees your picture across the screen.

"What's wrong?" he answers, heart pumping when he hears little sobs from your end of the line.

"I'm scared," you whisper. "I got too drunk, Jake, please."

"Please what? Where are you? I thought you were with Nat?"

Jake's already getting out of bed, moving to get into the pants he discarded earlier.

"Rooster and Fanboy showed up, crashing girls night. And it was fine," you hiccup, "but then Nat wanted to leave and Brad begged and whined for me to stay, so I did. And then he disappears, like, almost immediately. And Fanboy left with a girl and..." you whimper, "and I'm drunk and I can't find Rooster. Will you, would you please come get me? I'm sorry to ask but..."

His reply comes out immediately, "I'll be there in 10, stay where the bartenders can see you." And Jake's ears ring at the name Rooster. You rarely call any of them by their call signs. But he doesn't think he's ever even heard you say Rooster. It feels like the first crack in the dream. It feels kind of like hope.

Jake speeds to get to you.

You didn't listen, maybe you couldn't have because you're stumbling, Rooster has an arm around you outside the bar, he's holding you up and doing a piss poor job because Jake can see how unsteady you look from his truck.

He puts it in park right by the door, stopped in a no parking zone and ignores the annoyed look from the bouncer, immediately coming to your side.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asks, brushing your hair off your face and looking you over, making sure you've got your bag and assessing whether to take you home or to the hospital. Dramatic, maybe, but with you it's important. He's actively ignoring Rooster's stupid face. He keeps the focus on you, and away from Bradshaw, because he doesn't trust what would come out of his mouth.

"Jake," is all you say, practically falling into his arms and out of Rooster's.

He holds you tightly, fully supporting you and not letting you fucking wobble around.

"What are you even doing here? I've got it. I was just about to get her into a cab."

"No, I will get her home safely, since you left her in the fucking dust, Chicken." Jake eyes the girl rolling her eyes and waiting for Rooster, and his anger hits a boiling point. "What? Were you just gunna roll her into the cab and fucking hope she makes it to her front door okay?"

"Jesus, Hangman, sorry if I don't want to ruin my night just because someone else got too drunk."

"Ruin your - !? You're pathetic, Rooster." Jake catches you as your knees wobble out from under you, and he picks you up, hands braced under your knees and behind your back, holding you close as you snuggle into his chest, humming happily.

Rooster's jaw ticks at the way you seem ... comfortable, in Jake's arms. Bradley was convinced what you and Jake were doing was just ... fun, flirting. This seems... more real than he was expecting. When Jake starts walking away without another word, Rooster feels extra indignant.

"She'll never love you the way she loves me, you know!" Rooster yells.

But it falls on deaf ears.

Because Jake loves you so unconditionally that it doesn't matter. He will be what you need. Even if it dismantles him in the process.

Jake gets you settled in the passenger seat, makes sure your seatbelt is done up before getting into the driver's seat. Rooster and the girl are gone before he pulls out of the lot, but he can't think about that now, he just drives steady and slow, not wanting to make you feel any worse.

It's so irritating, watching Bradshaw act like such a loser. And he only seems to do it to you, which is just extra irritating. He can't stand it.

The drive to your apartment isn't far, he parks and makes his way to your side, fishing the keys out of your purse before hanging it off his arm, strong forearms cradling you to carry you bridal style to your door. He makes it seem easy, the way he unlocks the door and brings you into your place. He locks the door behind him, and brings you into the bathroom, setting you on the toilet, making sure you're steady before continuing his work. He puts your purse on the counter, pockets your phone, and grabs a couple make up wipes to take the makeup off. He's as gentle as can be, even when you're grumbling and groaning, about fireball and lemon drops.

"Can I have this?" you ask, fingers pinching the shirt he's wearing. "Looks mighty comfy."

"You want the shirt off my back, huh?" he chuckles, but takes it off. "Anything for you."

You hum happily, peeling your shirt off without warning, and Jake trains his eyes to the ceiling. They feel like they're made of concrete the way he has to keep them up and off you.

"All clear, Lieutenant," you say, cheesy grin on your face, but his breath hitches, and he coughs to cover it up.

"Let's get you to bed," he says, helping you up again, and letting you walk on your own.

"Thanks for coming to get me," you whisper, sliding into bed. "I got really nervous and I just... I thought you'd be a safe person to call."

"I'm glad you did," he says, tucking the blanket up to your chin. Mostly for comfort, but also because knowing you're laying in nothing but his shirt right now was an image he didn't know he'd ever be able to get out of his head. "I just want you safe and happy."

You hum in response, easing into the pillow, eyes closing and breaths already getting slower. He starts moving to leave, and you eye him again, pout on your lips. He looks like an angel, shirt off, hair messy from sleep, soft smile on his face.

"Jake?" you whisper, "will you please stay in here with me?"

"Oh uh, yeah, okay," he says, shuffling over and crawling into bed with you. He keeps his jeans on, because taking them off while you're in the bed and drunk just doesn't feel ... right.

You don't seem to mind, you just snuggle into Jake's chest, hand splayed across his abs and it makes his stomach somersault under your touch. You fall asleep instantly. Jake hesitates, but rests his chin again your hair, letting himself pretend, just for tonight, that he has you.

The night of the gala, Jake feels sick.

You look ... beautiful.

No one has ever looked as beautiful as you since... well he thinks ever. And he knows that tonight is the night - in one way or another. Maybe Rooster will confess, or maybe you'll take the job offer. Either way, Jake is probably going to lose you tonight.

But it doesn't stop him from holding out his elbow to you, smiling softly at you and leading you into the party.

Rooster can't keep eyes off of you.

His date, the redhead from the bar all those nights ago, clings to his side like she belongs there.

And you see that, but it doesn't twist you up inside.

Like, maybe she does belong there. And maybe you belong here.

Jake's been a perfect gentleman the entire evening. He holds a palm over your lower back as you laugh and chat with Nat, he grabs you a new drink as you give Bob a big hug and compliment how well he cleans up. He pulls you closer when Coyote asks you to save him a dance, making you and Javy laugh.

And then he leads you to the dance floor.

He spins you gently, just as he knows you like, he holds you close and keeps his eyes on your face as he sways you to the music.

At some point between Jake spinning you softly and dipping you at the end of the song, you realize that you're not concerned about where Rooster is. Another slow song starts and Jake brings you back up, holding a hand securely around your waist, the other holding your hand and he just dances, eyes on you the whole time, smile soft, and warm. And you realize... you're not putting on a show, you're just dancing, and you're happy, and you want Jake to pull you close again.

And he does pull you; so close his nose brushes yours and his breath, whiskey coated and a hint of spearmint gum, fans over your lips. You can’t help but feel drawn in, you want to be drawn in - you want Jake. Not as a consolation prize, not as anything other than the man he is.

“Can I cut in?” Rooster asks, startling the pair of you. “Can we… can we dance?”

"Uh..." you start, ready to say no, but Jake she kisses your hairline, and it feels like goodbye, not permission.

"Don't spin her too fast," Jake says, eyes avoiding you, "she hates that."

And he slinks away without another word, grabbing a drink and finding Coyote in the crowd - not looking back at you once, because he can't bear to see it. Coyote gives him a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder - but he's got nothing to say.

Rooster holds you the same way Jake did; but it's not as warm. It doesn't feel as... right.

"You look beautiful," he says finally, and it's no less awkward. The compliment not making you blush the way Jake's do. Not anymore.

"Thanks, Rooster."

"I don't... I don't know when you started calling me Rooster but I thought, I thought I was always Bradley to you."

"Your friends all call you Rooster."

"You're not just my friend though," he whispers, "you know that, right?"

"But I..." you start, then stop, eyes flicking to the door and you watch helplessly as Jake walks through it. Your eyes find Rooster's again and your heart plummets. Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't he what you wanted?

So why is your body desperate to go follow Jake?

"I have to go," you rush, dropping Rooster's hand, but he doesn't drop his from your waist. "Jake went outside, I want to find him. He's my date, I want..." This is the moment, the moment you choose. "I want to go find Jake."

"Is this... do you love him?" Rooster asked.

"I don't know," you answer, honestly, "but I know that he's who I want to spend the rest of my night with."

"I always kinda thought that... I always thought it would be me and you ending up together, you know? Just... I didn't realize that I love you until now."

It was all you wanted to hear.

But...

"I have to go," you whisper.

...all you can think of is Jake.

Rooster's eyes fall to the floor, his stomach sinks even lower than that. "You really do look beautiful."

"Thanks uh, Bradley," you start shuffling your dress up so you don't step on it while you're walking, "see you at work!"

When you find Jake outside, he's leaning against the wall, hand braced above his head like something is causing him pain. You clear your throat and scare him, trying not to laugh as he clutches his chest, not finding it nearly as funny as you.

He looks you over quickly, lipstick still intact, no Chicken trailing behind you.

“How uh, how did that go?”

“Rooster told me he loves me.”

Jake smiles sadly. “That is… awesome. Yeah, it is, it’s great.”

“Jake…”

“Don't say my name like that,” he sighs, “you might have to call me Hangman now, actually, you know what - you have to call me Bagman.”

“Jake...” you chuckle.

“Oh my god,” Jake mutters, heart flipping in his chest, throat tight with regret. He’s just lost what little of you he had and you insist on torturing him by saying his name so fuckin' pretty. Like you're the only one who knows how to say it at all.

“I told him no.”

This makes Jake's eyes snap to yours, and his brow furrow. “What?”

“I told him no, I told him I came here with you and,” you smile, Jake malfunctions. So you close to gap, running a hand up Jake's neatly pressed dress whites, “and I’ll be leaving with you.”

“Me?” he whispers, unsure.

“You,” you smile softly, and the corner of his lip turns into a smirk, anyone else would think it's cocky, but you know he’s nervous, you know him, better than anyone. “If you want me to.”

“Baby,” Jake whispers, hands finding your hips over the soft fabric, and they grip you tight enough to hold you steady. “I want you so badly I was willing to let another man have you just to keep you on the island.”

Your hand slides up more until your fingers are softly against the side of his face, and he looks down at you like there is nowhere else he’d rather be.

That's the difference. Rooster only wanted you because he thought he lost you, thought you would be steady and waiting forever and suddenly you weren't. But Jake... he was willing to lose you if that's what would make you happy. Jake wants you because he loves you, because he’s afraid of wasting one second with you. Like the thought of not having enough time makes him ill.

“If I kiss you now,” Jake whispers, “It's real. I want you. I want everything. All of it, slow mornings, birthdays, holidays, parents asking when they're getting grandkids, all of it.”

“It's real,” you promise. “Kiss me?”

“Yes ma'am.”

When he kisses you, it's exactly right. Like the end of a romcom where the girl is swept off her feet by the real hero of the story.

He kisses you so softly, every move intentional and reverent. He doesn't rush. Just moves his lips against yours like he's exactly where he wants to be. His hands stay steady on your waist, while your thumb rubs softly against his cheek. His tongue rolls lazily into your mouth and you moan, and you can almost feel the smirk on his mouth as he nips your bottom lip, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours.

His eyes are glassy, relieved, filled with adoration as he looks at you.

"Do you want to go dance some more, baby?"

The pet name rolls off his tongue like it belongs there, and you shake your head no.

"I want you to take me home," you say, placing another chaste kiss on his mouth. He smiles, letting go with one hand and letting the other slide around to your lower back, leading you back to his truck without a second thought. There would be a lifetime of chances to dance, but that's not what you need right now.

Right now, you just need him.

"Jake, please," you moan, hands thread through his hair as he devours you like a man starved. "Just want you."

He pulls away for a second, fingers still moving inside you, and he kisses the inside of your thigh. "Stop rushin' baby girl, we got all night. And I'm still hungry."

"Baby, baby please."

He grunts, pained to decide between drawing another orgasm out of you with his mouth or giving into your pretty, pretty begging.

He was never one to deny you.

Jake crawls up your body, trailing kisses across your stomach, chest, neck as he does, before settling comfortably in between your legs. As he kisses you, you taste yourself, and you moan against slippery lips, hands wrapped around his broad shoulders like a lifeline.

"I'll be going back for more later," Jake says, making you laugh against him, tucking your face into his shoulder.

"Perv."

"If that's what it makes me, so be it."

His hand moves between you, grabbing himself to line himself up with your centre, and he drops his head against your shoulder at the feeling. So wet, and tight, and warm - he knows he won't last. It's been too long and you're, well, his dream.

"Please," you mutter, biting into his shoulder, begging for all of him, and he sighs, pushing into you.

You both gasp, the feeling of him stretching you so perfectly, no pain, no discomfort, just two people that were made for eachother.

The movements start slow, pulling back only a few inches to push back him, he wants to stay inside you, to feel you around him the rest of his life.

And then he slowly picks up the pace, listening to your moans to find the right spots inside you, the right tempo that makes you close your eyes and arch your back. He's learning every sound you make, committing it all to memory.

Jake’s hips stutter against yours, it takes everything in him to keep his composure, to stop himself from filling you with cum the second he’s inside you.

“Baby this is… you’re a dream - baby, fuck, you’re so fucking perfect, i can’t … you feel so, so good baby.”

“Jake,” you mewl, “Jake it feels so good - makin’ me feel so good”

“Yeah, baby? You like it?”

“Love it - love you.”

Jake hips stutter again, and he stills. Large palms brushing over your forehead, moving damp hair away from your face, and his smile is soft, reverent.

“I love you too,” he whispers, slotting his lips against yours in a sensual, languid kiss, and his hips move again, slow, deliberate, controlled. "I love you so much." He angles himself deeper, hiking one of your legs over his waist and around his back, letting him sink fully into you, both of you moaning in tandem. "I'm sorry baby, it's - it's too fuckin' good, I'm not gunna be able to hold out."

"That's okay," you moan, "it's okay, let go. I want you to feel good."

"I feel so fucking good, baby."

"We have all night," you wink, "we'll go again."

He doesn't need anymore coaxing, he stills inside you, spilling deep, groaning against the curve of your neck, the vibrations sending a chill down your spine. He doesn't move, stays locked deep inside you, fanning kisses along your neck.

Eventually, he pulls out, and he hisses with over sensitivity. In his wildest dreams, this is always where he ends up, wrapped up in you. Not even just the sex, but the closeness of having you near, of being able to kiss you as he pleases, of not having to worry about needing his hands on you.

As you lay tangled in the sheets, your hit with a moment of clarity. Of everything you must have been putting Jake through the last week, and it feels akin to how you felt. His steady breaths a comfort you didn't know you needed, and you nuzzle closer into his side, with him happily making room to draw you in closer.

"I'm sorry," you say, guilt gnawing at your heart.

"What for?"

"For..." you sigh, "For asking you to help me with Rooster, I... I wish I fell for you in a better way, I wish it wasn't sullied by the drama."

"It's not sullied," he says, rolling over to face you, hand sliding under you to hold your cheek, thumb brushing over the curve of it. He smiles. "I don't feel like a second choice, I feel so, stupidly, insanely happy. I do not care how we got here, I'm just happy we're here."

"Are you sure that you won't, resent me?"

"I would do anything for you," he says after a moment, "I don't care that you used to love Bradshaw, I don't. I love you, I loved you unconditionally, and patiently, and it all worked out. Love is messy, baby." He kisses your nose. "Love you," he kisses your forehead, "love you," he kisses your cheek, "love you."

And he kisses you fully, slowly, pouring every ounce of love he has to give into you. And you sigh, content, comfortable, madly in love with Jake fucking Seresin of all people, with his cocky attitude and boyish grin that makes you feel alive. He fills your cup. He leaves room for you on busy days. And he never, ever strings you along for anything, ever. To him, you are the only feasible answer. To him, you are everything.

And to you, he is what home feels like. He is where warmth stems from. He's not just exciting, and handsome (so fucking beautiful really) but he's sturdy.

You pull away first. "I love you, Jake."

He just smiles, and brings you in for another kiss.

And another.

And another.

And then he groans as he rolls back on top of you, ready to promise you forever.

But you're both happy to start with tonight.

The rest of your lives can come one day at a time. And you'll face them all together.

bonus: epilogue

Rooster nurses his drink while his date talks his ear off about, what exactly? He doesn't even know.

His eyes drag back over to you, as they have all night, as has everybody’s, and he can't help the sigh that leaves him. You're a vision in white, the most beautiful bride anyone has ever seen.

And he's not the groom.

Hangman is.

Rooster looks at his date and feels a mix of resentment and guilt. She’s perfectly lovely, in a dress that exactly fits the theme and colour scheme, and she’s been kind to all of his friends. But she's not you.

He looks at you again, and watches Jake pick you up and twirl you slowly, holding you close to his body. Rooster's stomach drops the same way it had at the gala all those years ago.

Then Jake kisses you. Rooster clenches his jaw and looks away quickly. His date follows his previous line of sight and she sighs, finishing her drink and excusing herself.

Rooster doubts she’ll return to the table.

He doesn't care.

Just takes another sip of his drink, watching miserably and wondering how this even happened.

How Jake stole you away.

How Rooster didn't notice until it was too late.

But on the dance floor, Rooster hasn’t entered Jake’s mind once. His thoughts were completely consumed with you, trying to memorize exactly how you look, right now, at your wedding, to him. This is the best day anyone has ever had.

“I love you, Bagman.”

He laughs, head thrown back and carefree, enjoying what will one day be considered one of the greatest highlights of his life.

“I love you too, Mrs. Seresin.”

[hs-is-loml]

We Never Stood A Chance. (gg44)

Pairing: garrett graham x childhood best friend!reader

Summary: when the granddaughter of the former head coach of the New York Rangers transfers to BriarU, people don’t expect you to be so attached to captain of the Briar Hawks hockey team, garrett graham. what everyone didn’t know was that you are his childhood best friend. don't forget the guys who welcomed you with unconditional support and became family like you’ve never expected.

Warnings: childhood best friends to lovers trope. (they act like they’re married and have been together for 30 years) one-bed trope. no mention of y/n, pet names are used to refer to the reader: petal and angel. found family to the absolute max, along with dean being a menace. wholesome love all around. reader is given princess treatment.

a/n: worked my butt off for this one, and i hope you all love it as much as i do. i'm such a sucker for the found family trope. also a little family healing for garrett, and did i mention that garrett is completely gone for the reader? (let me know what you think!)

Word count: 13.1k

masterlist

“Did you guys hear about the granddaughter of the former New York Rangers coach transferring here from Columbia?” Logan asked Dean and Tucker from the kitchen. “We’re out of beer.”

Just as he made the statement, Garrett walked through the front door holding a case of beer: “I come bearing gifts.”

“Our saviour,” Logan jokingly praised as he opened his welcoming arms for Garrett to hand the case over to him. 

“Logan, is she hot?” Dean chirped from the couch.

“What girl caught your eye?” Garrett teased, walking over to the pantry in search of a snack.

“Not yet. I was asking the boys if they heard about the new transfer from Columbia. Apparently, she’s the granddaughter of the former Rangers coach,” Logan explained. 

His words had Garrett pause his rummaging and slowly turn around to face Logan. “Where’d you hear that from?” Garrett’s voice came out more snippy than he had meant.

“A couple of the guys in the locker room mentioned it today at morning practice,” Logan shrugged, not noticing Garrett’s shift in mood. 

Garrett’s breath hitched at the mere thought of guys he knew talking about you. 

The girl he grew up with. Of course, he knew you. 

He couldn’t even remember the number of times you two would go off and explore an arena wherever the Rangers were playing. Even when someone would catch the pair of you somewhere you probably shouldn’t have been, no one could ever say anything against the pout that you would pull out when you were kids. It helped that you were the Rangers’ head coach’s granddaughter. 

Your families have been connected since before both of you were born. His father met yours when he first made the team at 18. Your father was 20 and determined to prove that he deserved to be on the team, not just because his father was the coach. Both felt like they had something to prove and became a fierce pair on the ice. 

Your mothers bonded quickly when they were first introduced. It wasn’t easy with husbands who were always in the limelight. 

They marveled when they found out they were pregnant around the same time. Garrett was born exactly one month before you. Which was something you never heard the end of during your childhood. He would always claim that it was his job to make sure you were safe.

They would always gush when you two were together as children. Garrett was always trailing behind or beside you like a protector, and he was always the first one to help you up when you stumbled over your feet. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you better than he knew himself. 

Garrett remembered all the family vacations that you guys shared. The way that his father would put on an act and pretend that they were this picture-perfect family, but you didn’t buy it. 

You’ve hated Phil Graham from the moment you overheard an argument between Garrett’s parents when you were 8 years old. You were staying over for a couple of days as your parents were away traveling. Garrett had begged you to ask your parents if you could just stay with his family instead of staying with your grandparents. 

It didn’t take much convincing for your parents to let you stay with the Graham family. Granted, they didn’t know what happened behind closed doors.  

A memory flashed in Garrett’s mind of the first Halloween without his mom and the first time his father laid hands on him.

“Gare, you don’t have to be brave with me.” You were inspecting his bloodied knuckles. The first aid kit sat next to you on the bed. “This is going to burn a bit.”

“Petal, just do it already.” he tried to squirm away, but you kept a firm grip of his hand in your lap.

Garrett redirected his focus from the pain to you. He watched as you took care of his hand, making sure it was clean before putting ointment over the split knuckles and wrapping it with such care. He looked at you like you were the only thing that brought light to his life. 

“Okay, all done,” you muttered quietly while you started putting all the stuff from the kit away. You walked over to his closet to put it back in the corner where you first stashed it when you saw bruises on his mother’s wrists years ago.  

“I hate him.” 

“I know you do.”

“He’s a monster. He’s cruel. He never treated my mom right, even before she got sick. He’s always been so mean,” Garrett sniffled. He looked down at his wrapped hand and clenched his other fist tightly. “I never want to be like him.”

His words caught your attention, and you sat back over to him. You took his hands in yours and brought them close to your heart. “You, Garrett, are nothing like your father. You are nothing but kind and caring. You always look out for me even when you don’t need to. You are so special, and I never want you to think otherwise.” You told him with fierce invigoration.

Even at 12 years old, Garrett knew then that he would never love someone as much as he loved you at that moment. 

“G? You all good there?” Logan snapped his fingers in front of Garrett’s face, hoping to pull him out of his daze.

Garrett shook his head slightly as if to clear the thoughts that scrambled through his mind about you. “Sorry, what’d you say?” His eyes flickered over to Logan, but he still seemed distracted. 

“I was telling you about that girl. I heard from a couple of the guys that it hasn’t even been confirmed that she’s transferred officially.” Logan explained to him.

Garrett let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. That news made him feel better that it was just rumors. His chest felt tight at the thought that you wouldn’t share such big information with him. Especially considering he last talked to you a week ago, and you didn’t mention anything about the possibility of transferring to Briar U.

“Hey, G? Do you know her? With your dad being a former Ranger,” Tucker speculated, making his way over to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Maybe a connection?”

Dean joined the rest of the group. “If you do, can you put in a good word for me?” 

“Not a chance,” Garrett snorted. “I’m leaving this conversation.” He started to walk away from the boys and headed for the stairs. 

“G? You didn’t answer the question!” Garrett heard Tucker yell out from the kitchen. Ignoring him, Garrett made quick work of taking out his phone and pulling up your contact.

His thumb hovered above the call button until he got to his room and closed the door behind him.

“Hey, bub! What’s up?” you answered. Just from hearing your voice, Garrett’s body relaxed. He felt the tension that he held in his shoulders melting away while listening to you. “I actually have some news for you!” 

Garrett shook his head. He flopped back against his bed, softly laughing to himself, “Just wanted to talk to you.”

“Love, we just talked last week. Did something happen?” The concern in your voice was obvious. “You know you can call me anytime, right? No matter what.”

“I know, Petal.” A warm smile crept onto Garrett’s face. “Is it a crime to just want to hear your voice?”

“You’re such a sap.” Your laugh came through the phone, and Garrett almost forgot the reason why he called you. 

“You said you had something to share with me?” Garrett turned the conversation back to you.

“You know how I’ve been telling you I want a change of pace? I feel stuck here, and I love my family, but I need some space to breathe without someone asking me for Rangers tickets or if I’ve ever wanted to hook up with any of them,” you rambled, beating around the bush of the actual news. “I just want to feel like I’m on my own for once. Wow, I sound entitled. I am so sorry for that–”

“Don’t apologize. I’m always here to listen to you.” Garrett cut you off, knowing that if he didn’t, you would continue apologizing for something you never had to be sorry for. “And I get it. Trust me, I do.”

“I miss you, Garrett.” You admitted it so softly that he almost missed it. 

“I miss you, Petal.”

“You’ll be sick of me when I transfer to Briar U.” You snuck the surprise in. “I’m serious, you’re never going to get a moment alone again.”

The moment he comprehended what you said, he couldn’t stop his smile from widening. “Petal, don’t play with my heart like that if you’re not serious.”

“Garrett Graham, did you hear what I just said? I am serious.” You mockingly defended your words. “Love, I mean this. I already submitted the paperwork. I’m waiting on my credits to transfer over, so I can get my new schedule.”

“When will you be here?” The urgency in Garrett’s voice and the question got a giggle out of you. 

“Maybe a week or two. I’m still trying to solidify my official housing situation. They offered me a suite on campus, but I’m considering looking for a place off campus,” you explained the small conundrum. “Gramps said he would pitch in if I find a place because he says that he knows the ‘kind of boys that could live on the same floor’ as me. Which is verbatim to what he said, by the way,” you laughed to yourself, thinking back to the conversation with your grandfather.

“I one hundred percent agree with Gramps. Don’t even worry about finding a place. Just stay with me, Petal,” Garrett offered without a single thought or hesitation. “I’d know you’re safe. Gramps would feel better knowing that you’ve got four giant hockey players to protect you. Your dad might not be the biggest fan of it cause he hasn’t met the other guys, but he’ll trust me with you.” Garrett was reasoning with you.

“Love, I couldn’t intrude on you or the rest of your housemates. This is a big thing, and I’m a big girl. I can figure this out…” You trailed off. You had to admit to yourself that what Garrett offered sounded nice. From your search, most places close to campus were already filled since it was midway through a semester. You saw a few that caught your eye, but the drive was 25 minutes away from campus.

“Petal, this isn’t up for discussion.”

“Yes, it is. Especially considering I’m almost positive that when you were moving in, you told me that there were only four rooms.”

“I’ve got the master bedroom, Petal. It’s plenty of room for you and me. There’s an ensuite bathroom. Honestly, it’d just be how it was when we were little and used to go on vacation,” Garrett countered you. “Baby, please just stay with me.”

The softness of his voice almost made you cave at the spot. “You have to ask your housemates.”

“Done. They won’t have a problem with it.”

“You ask them now, Garrett. Go downstairs and throw the idea out there for them. Keep me on call, so I can hear their reactions,” you instructed him.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Garrett shot out of bed and headed for the door. “Boys! I got a question for you!” Garrett yelled out to them, hoping they could hear him over the TV blasting the sounds from their video game.

“Bub, that was straight in my ear,” you pointed out, reminding him you were still right next to the speaker.

“Oh shit, sorry, Petal,” Garrett muttered as he hurried down the stairs. 

Dean was the only one to catch what Garrett had said. He pointed it out to Logan. “Petal?” 

Logan looked up from the screen. He twisted his head to glance at Garrett. “What’s up, G?” 

“Who are you talking to?” Dean quipped at the same time as Logan.

The exchange took Tucker out of the game and left him watching the people around him. He muted the TV, leaving the house quiet. 

Garrett’s posture gave away his nervousness about finally bringing you up to them. He never purposely tried to avoid any topics that could relate to you, but that also meant he chose to never bring it up. He got enough questioning about his ‘legendary’ dad and what it must have been like to grow up in that environment. That’s all anyone ever cared about anyway. 

“The granddaughter you were asking about?” Garrett answered, hoping his tone was enough to signal to them to be cool about it. 

“What do you mean ‘the granddaughter,’ G?” Logan questioned. His eyes widened by the moment. 

“How do you guys feel about getting another roommate?” Garrett blurted out. He never thought it would be nerve-wracking to mention you to the guys. He felt like he had to share a part of you that he only ever wanted to keep to himself.

“We only have four bedrooms,” Dean pointed out the obvious. 

Tucker gave him an up slap against the back of his head, “He knows that, dingus.”

Garrett ran a hand through his hair as he scanned the guys for their reactions. “What’d they say, Bub?” You weren’t even on speakerphone, but it was loud enough in the silent house that the others could hear you clearly. 

“You’ve known who I was talking about this whole time? You just pretended to be stupid or something?” Logan's thoughts gathered quickly to make the connections. “Let me sound like some idiot going on about it.”

“Yeah. She’s transferring from Columbia.” Garrett swept over Logan’s realization. 

“G, I don’t know any girl that would want four guys as their roommates,” Tucker claimed, because it seemed laughable that a girl would ever want to live with guys who eat, breathe, sleep hockey. 

“She’ll be fine. I’m not asking you to give up any of your rooms. Mine will be fine. I don’t want her to be in the dorms. You know how the guys over there are. I’d feel better knowing she’d be close,” Garrett explained with a rare softness in him that no one ever really heard other than you.

“She’d be more than close,” Dean muttered under his breath. Logan nudged him in the side with his elbow. 

“Are you sure she even wants to move in?” Logan asked him honestly. 

“Gare, put me on speaker, please?” You requested politely. Garrett abided and shoved the phone more in the guys’ direction. “Can they hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” All three of the guys affirmed for her. 

“Unbelievable.” Garrett guffawed at the three in front of him. 

“Garrett’s just being overdramatic about this. I don’t want to force myself into your guys’ space–”

“Petal.” Garrett cut you off with a tone that didn’t leave room for much argument.

“Love, you can’t just ask them something like that and expect them to be completely okay with it.”

“Petal, I will call Gramps. Please don’t make this more complicated.”

“Garrett Graham! Don’t you dare!” You yelped on the phone. 

Garrett’s mind was only focused on the sound of your voice, as if the rest of the world melted away from him. Logan, Tucker, and Dean all raised eyebrows at each other because of the pair of you. They had never heard Garrett be like that with a girl. Hell, they never saw him interact with many girls unless it was for a night, and they were always quick to leave. 

“Petal, all you have to do is say yes.” Garrett implored. 

“Would you guys be okay with it? If not, I’ll work something else out, don’t worry about me.” You asked them, uncertain about Garrett’s plea. 

“If you’re important to Garrett, you’re important to us. You’re welcome here anytime,” Tucker answered for the three. 

Dean raised a finger in the air to signal he was about to chime in. “Get ready for some serious game nights,” he joked.

Logan added, “What’s your drink of choice?”

“A cosmo,” you answered simply, with humor lacing your voice. 

“Bullshit, it’s always a strawberry mojito,” Garrett called out to counter.

“Besides the point,” you brushed off.

“Honey, we have to go attend the fundraiser.” Your dad’s call from the hallway broke you away from the conversation. He knocked against your door softly.

“Come in,” you told him.

 “You talking to someone, Sweetie?” He said from the door. 

“Just Gare, Dad,” you announced to him as he started to enter your room. 

“Hey, son! I saw a clip from your last game, and you’re looking real good out there. With this one transferring over, I’m going to have to attend some games in person finally,” your dad happily spoke to Garrett. Who had made his way to the kitchen and placed his phone on the counter while he searched for a drink. 

The other three scrambled from the couch to the counter to continue to listen to the phone call. All of them actively started to slowly get more and more geeked out at the mere presence of your dad’s voice. 

“Hey, Pop! Thanks, it’s been quite a season out there, but our next home game is in two weeks. Will you be in town?” 

“Yeah, I’ll get the lot to come out since it’ll be Petal’s first home game because she originally chose a school with no hockey!” Your dad bellowed out in a laugh. “We have to cheer for you while we can.”

“Gramps, still mad at me for Boston?” Garrett queried.

“Like Gramps could say mad at you, Bub,” you snorted. 

Logan, Dean, and Tucker were in utter disbelief at what they were witnessing. They had never seen Garrett at peace and content, talking to people on the phone. He was never like this when he was on the phone with his dad. 

They started to question the relationship that Garrett had with you and, presumably, the rest of your family. It was evident that he was close with your family, but it seemed deeper than that. A casualness that only came around when you were talking to family, but they assumed he was somehow also romantically linked to you. Maybe it was both, but the scene in front of them was creating bounds of confusion. 

“He’ll get over it once he sees you on ice,” your dad assured him. “Anyways, Garrett. Petal and I have to seriously head out now before the Missus has both of our heads.”

“It was good talking to you, Pop.”

“Bye, bub. I’ll let you know when I get back later. I love you!” 

“I love you too, Petal.” Garrett grinned to himself, and the boys officially thought they had lost the Garrett Graham that they knew. The call ended, and Garrett turned back to the boys. “You shitheads are actually okay with this, right?” 

And just like that, Garrett Graham was back the way they knew him to be. “G, what the hell was that?” Logan was baffled.

“The former Rangers’ head coach is going to attend our next game,” Dean said in a daze.

“You gotta tell us what’s going on, man,” Tucker said, exasperated by no explanation. 

It was clear that Garrett didn’t even know where to start. His mouth opened and closed exactly three times before he even let anything out. “What do you guys want to know?” He thought it was a great question to gauge where the guys’ heads were at. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been with her this whole time, and you’re still with bunnies,” Logan chastised him. “That’s not cool, man.”

“No. No, we’re not dating,” Garrett responded, putting his hands up to somehow show his innocence. “We grew up together.”

“No way there’s nothing there, G,” Tucker protested. 

“So you wouldn’t mind?” Dean gave Garrett a look that explained what he had meant.

“Dean, you’re not getting with her. Don’t even think about trying anything,” Garrett warned. 

“Oh, you’re in love with her.” Logan snapped his fingers at Garrett.

“Dude, I thought we already knew that,” Tucker said to Logan.

“Wait, how is it going to work with her moving in here? This is not exactly a five-star hotel.” Dean gestured to the slight mess around them. While it was cluttered, the house wasn’t too bad at its current state. It looked lived in. “I mean, if you’re not dating her, but she’s going to share your room with you. I’m just trying to understand this, man. Because that means no more bunnies for you like ever.”

“There’s not going to be another bunny,” Garrett said as if it were the most simple thing.

“He’s a changed man, Dean,” Tucker whooped as he made his way over to Garrett and gave him a good slap on the shoulder. “G, this girl means a lot to you, and if you want her to live here. We’re seriously cool about it.”

“Thanks, Tuck.”

After much discussion, your family thought it was best if you had a week to settle in. Since you weren’t moving into your own place, you didn’t need to bring much other than clothes and necessities. You and Garrett had talked about what he had and what you still needed to buy, but agreed that you could just go shopping together rather than getting anything beforehand. Everything you needed to bring was able to fit in your G-Wagon. 

While you didn’t officially start until next Monday, you were finally at Briar to pick up your schedule and really take in the new campus without the rush of trying to figure out where your classes were. 

It was Friday, and students were still scattered around campus for those who still had classes. You were walking around aimlessly, trying to find a cafe that Garrett recommended that you might like. 

Meanwhile, the guys were finishing grabbing lunch on campus after their practice. They headed out of the dining hall together. Garrett was looking down at his phone as he checked your location, knowing you would be at Briar already. 

Garrett cocked his head to the side because, according to the phone, you were in his vicinity. “Holy shit, look at her. She’s like an angel,” Dean guffawed as he stopped the guys in their tracks. 

“She’s beautiful,” Logan commented.

“Out of your league, dude,” Tucker added on.

Garrett tilted his head back up to see what Dean was going on about. There you were, about 20 feet away. He had half a mind to tell Dean off, but he agreed with him. 

You hadn’t noticed the group staring at you. They watched as you pulled your phone out as if you were making a call. You held the phone to your ear while still looking around, but not fully catching the four boys.

Garrett’s phone rang in his hand, the other three’s heads snapped to look at his phone. He accepted the call. “Hey, Petal.”

“Bub, I think I’m lost,” you told him.

“You look so cute, though. Like a lost little duck,” he continued to admire you from afar. 

He watched the realization dawn on your face after his words. You scanned your surroundings and finally saw them. Your face lit up at the sight of Garrett. He did just the same when he saw you start to head in his direction. You hung up the call and slid your phone back into your purse. Garrett slid his to his pocket to free up his hands. 

The three guys stayed back as Garrett walked to meet you. They watched as your grin spread across your face. It was so bright that it could make anyone melt if they knew it was directed at them. 

The sight of you starting to jog towards Garrett in pure joy was something to behold. You met each other halfway and practically crashed into one another. His arms wrapped around your waist automatically. Your arms locked around his neck. Neither of you was particularly interested in letting go. 

“You’re actually here,” Garrett mumbled into your hair. His grip tightened even as he pulled back to look at your face. His eyes crinkled at the corners from the way he was smiling in genuine delight. “I’m never letting you go anywhere without me again,” he chuckled as he picked you off your feet and spun you around.

Your laugh was blissful. Students flowed around you both while they pointed out Garrett and the ‘mystery girl’ he was with. But in the moment between you and Garrett, all of them were forgotten, like the rest of the world. 

“Gare, let me down!” you yelped, laughing. Garrett missed that laugh. More than he’d realized.

Garrett set you back down, but you stayed in his arms. You reached up to fix a piece of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Without any hesitation. Without any thought. Like you had done it a thousand times before. Garrett didn’t even react. He was fully occupied by admiring you. 

Back to the Dean, Logan, and Tucker. The three guys nearly choked when they saw that. “I thought he said they aren’t dating?” Dean pointed to you two. “She fixed his hair.”

“I was not expecting them to run into each other’s arms,” Logan quipped.

“What is happening?” Dean was utterly confused by the scene in front of him. 

“I don’t know.” Logan shook his head. 

“I’ve never seen him smile that much.”

“Neither have I, Dean.”

“They have to be dating,” Dean declared.

“If they’re not now, I hate to see them when they are,” Tucker cackled, clapping his hands together. “C’mon, let’s introduce ourselves to our new roommate.”

You tore your eyes away from Garrett’s and glanced over to where the guys were. “Your friends?”

Garrett turned back and saw them walking toward you two. He sighed, “Unfortunately.” He watched as Dean cheesed and happily waved to you. “Oh, my God.” Dean was mortifyingly enthusiastic.

You broke an arm away to wave back. “Are they on something?”

“Worse.”

“Perfect.”

You dropped your arms down and attempted to pull away from Garrett to get ready to greet them. Which Garrett’s response was laughable. Instead, he moved to stand behind you and keep his arms around you. The guys caught how Garrett’s stare stayed on the side of your face. The kind of smile plastered on his face was something his friends had never seen before. It was warm. He looked hopelessly gone.

“Let me guess, the one leading the pack is Tucker, Dean is obviously the blond, which leaves Logan, who has that brooding brunette look to him.” You humored him. 

“The second they get over here and meet you. They’re never going to leave us alone,” Garrett said, exasperated. You laughed and moved one hand to lightly grip his forearm while you waited for the three to make their way over. 

“Can’t believe he waited a week before she transferred to tell us that he knows her,” You heard Dean tell the guys.

“Hey, you guys! Garrett, you remember we exist, right?” Logan greeted,d joking. 

Dean was the first one to offer you a hand. You moved your hand from Garrett’s arm and shook Dean’s waiting hand. “Hi, Angel.”

“Angel?” you whispered to Garrett in question as you pulled away from the handshake. 

Garrett just scoffed, but luckily Dean was there to explain, “You look like an Angel, unless I can call you Petal?” 

“You’re pushing it,” Garrett warned. Dean smirked and raised his hands to motion to back off. 

“Okay, but Angel, if things don’t work out with him, let me know. I’ll only be a few doors away.” Dean winked at you playfully, signalling he was really only saying it to mess with Garrett.

Garrett looked about a second away from committing a felony. You felt his arms tighten around you and pull you to press against him. Logan noticed and burst out laughing. You nearly choked. “You’re a fun one, Dean.”

“Call me Six Flags,” Dean nodded at you.

“I hate you,” Garrett told him.

“No, you don’t, Graham.” Dean smiled.

“Don’t mind him,” Tucker pushed Dean out of the way. “I’m Tucker, well, John, but Logan is also John,” Tucker introduced himself. He opened his arms slightly, and you tapped on Garrett’s arms to let you go. You giggled and accepted the hug. “We cleaned the house for you, Ma’am,” he whispered as you guys parted. 

“Oh, how very kind of you all,” you told him. 

Logan watched with a grin on his face that reflected genuine. Like he’d decided within the past few minutes that you belonged with them. “We’ve heard nothing but your name for the past week, and honestly, I’m just happy you’re here.”

Your expression softened. “That’s really sweet. And seriously, thanks for being so cool about this. I really appreciate you guys.”

“Any time, Angel,” Logan replied. Dean snorted at the use of the name.

“Not you too, Logan.” Garrett rubbed at his temples. He reached an arm out to you, and you naturally wrapped your arms around him. “Do you have everything with you already?” 

“Yeah, my car is packed to the brim right now,” you answered. “Are you guys done for the day?”

“We cleared the schedule, so we can help the Missus move in,” Dean claimed. 

“Perfect! Would any of you mind if you drove my car to the house?” You reached into your purse to grab your keys and dangled them in front of the guys. Dean nodded and opened the palm of his hand. “Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, dropping the keys into his waiting hand. “I parked it in the lot near admissions! It won’t be hard to miss.”

Dean finger-saluted you. “I’ll see you all at home?”

“Yeah, we’ll meet you back there.” Tucker motioned to himself and Logan before breaking away from the group with Dean.

“See you in a bit,” Garrett responded, waving goodbye to the three.

When Garrett pulled up to the house, it was bigger than you expected, but at the same time, it made complete sense for the four hockey players. 

Well.

Four college hockey players, and apparently you know. 

Even after Garrett had parked the car, you knew better than to try to just get out yourself. You waited patiently while Garrett rushed over to your side to open the passenger door and offer a hand to you.

With your hand laced with his, you guys made your way to the porch. The front door swung open. Dean stepped outside, twirling your car keys around one finger. “Your car is officially here.”

“My hero,” you pretended to gush. “Thanks, Dean.”

“No problem, Angel.”

Dean tossed the keys in your direction, but Garrett intercepted and caught them. He kept hold of them and pointed them to pop open the trunk. The movement was so familiar that neither of you really reacted. Unfortunately, Dean did, and so did Logan and Tucker, who were right behind him. 

Immediately. They exchanged a look. You pretended not to notice. Garrett definitely noticed. 

“Alright,” Garrett announced. “Let’s move this circus inside.”

You all turned to look at your car and the full trunk. Silence. You cleared your thoughts. “What?”

Logan pointed to the mountain of boxes. “You know you’re sharing a space with G, right?”

“We’ll make it work.” You shrugged. 

Tucker went to pick up one of the boxes, and he immediately regretted it. “What is in this?”

“Just books.”

“All of them?”

You nodded proudly, “I like reading.”

“Nobody likes reading that much,” Dean retorted.

You pulled your hand away from Garrett to snatch the box away from Tucker. “Give me my children.”

Garrett laughed, and the sound made you smile before you could stop yourself. “Come on,” he said, taking the box from your arms before you could protest. 

“Hey!” 

“No, Petal.”

“I can carry it,” you defended. 

“I know.” He said, heading into the house.

Instead of arguing, you sighed, picked up another box, and followed him inside. Dean, Logan, and Tucker were standing still, which, in passing, you told them, “I thought you guys were going to help?”  

“Yes, Ma’am.” The three all got a box of their own to carry in. 

The inside of the house was exactly what you expected. A little chaotic, but you could tell that they made an effort to tidy up the house for your arrival. It was comfortable. The kitchen looked surprisingly clean. 

“I’m a mean cook, Angel. Just you wait,” Tucker boasted before going up the stairs to drop off the box in Garrett’s room. Well, now your shared room. 

Any nerves that you had about transferring to Briar and moving in with the guys disappeared. This didn’t feel like walking into a house of strangers. It felt like walking into a place you’ve somehow already been a hundred times.

Maybe because Garrett was here, or that his friends welcomed you without hesitation. Everyone kept making room for you without even realizing they were doing it. 

By the time the second trip down to the car was made, you were already helping Dean and Logan make fun of Garrett’s habit of neatly folding laundry. 

By the third trip, Tucker is asking you what your favorite meal is, so he can try to make it. Then Logan explained the house’s completely unnecessary ranking system for takeout restaurants, and somehow you’re laughing through all of it. 

Dean placed the final box onto the floor. “Important question.”

“Which is?” you asked back while looking through a box full of shoes in dust bags. 

“You’re completely okay with just moving into his room,” Dean gestured around Garrett’s master bedroom.

“He offered,” you shrugged, “And it’s not like we haven’t shared rooms before. Growing up on summer vacations, our parents always figured that we would sneak into each other’s rooms anyway, so they just started putting us together by the time we were seven.”

“That clarification should’ve come when we first called last week,” Logan said. 

“I hate living here.” Garrett rubbed a hand over his face.

“No, you don’t, G,” Tucker mumbled. 

By midnight, only a few boxes were left to unpack, and you guys gathered in the living room for some late-night pizza. The kitchen light was off, the room was illuminated by the TV, and six pizza boxes had taken over the coffee table. 

Dean was on his fifth slice and in full interrogation mode. “Okay,” he said, pointing at you and Garrett. “We have questions,” he said, pointing to Logan, Tucker, and himself.

“Yup, we all do,” Logan added, leaning back against the couch.

Tucker nodded. “Especially because he’s acted weird for an entire week.”

“I haven’t acted weird,” Garrett tried to pass off. All three of the roommates stared at him.

You laughed into your drink. Garrett looked betrayed. 

Dean pointed dramatically, “First question: how long have you two known each other?”

You and Garrett answered at the same time, “Since birth.”

No response. 

“Literally?” Logan blinked. “He neglected to mention that he had a childhood best friend.”

“Literally,” you repeated. “Our moms were best friends before we were born.”

“How?” Dean gaped. 

“Buddy, I think you all know who our dads are.” You gently parented him. 

“And your grandfather?” Logan asked.

“Former head Rangers coach, as you guys know. Only stepped down after my dad retired from hockey,” you told him while reaching for another slice. Before you had to get up from your place next to Garrett, Tucker plopped another slice on your place. “Thanks, Tuck.”

“Who’s older?” Dean went.

You rolled your eyes at the question, knowing what was coming. 

“Me,” Garrett claimed proudly.

“By one month,” you scoffed. “You guys would never believe how many times he pulled that out in an argument.”

“I’m older,” Garrett dismissed.

“By thirty-one days.” You deadpanned. 

“Still older.”

“You brought it up constantly.”

“Because it’s true.”

Logan looked delighted. “This explains so much.”

“What does it explain?” Garrett questioned.

“Why you two act like a married couple.” Logan’s words had you choking on your drink. Garrett nearly did the same, but he was quick to rub your back in soothing motions. The action really didn’t help your case. Dean howled in laughter after catching it. Logan and Tucker snickered to themselves. 

After calming down, Dean moved on to his next question. “How have we never heard of you before?”

The room went a little quieter. Garrett mumbled, “You guys know I don’t really talk about home.”

No one pushed. They all knew that much.

The boys knew Garrett didn’t like interacting with his dad and that his mom had passed away when he was younger. What they didn’t know was that you had been there through it all. 

You nudged his knee with yours, and he glanced at you briefly. Just for a moment, but his shoulders loosened a little. 

“There was never a reason to bring me up. I was away in New York, and god knows that Columbia kept me busy enough to have any downtime,” you explained. “And you guys were always away when I would visit during the summer.”

“Wait, a damn minute.” Dean paused mid-bite. 

“What’d you just say?” Logan was taken aback.

“What do you mean by that?” Tucker probed. 

Garrett shook his head and poked you in the side. “They didn’t know that, Petal.”

“Well, now they do.” You finished the last bit of your slice and put your plate on the coffee table. You leaned back against the couch and tucked your feet under you. Garrett lifted his arm, and you scooted closer to his side.

His arm came behind your waist, and his hand landed on your hip. He tugged you to be snug against his side. 

“Now, a serious question,” Dean remarked, even though he felt like he was interrupting something. 

“Dangerous start.” Your laugh was airy, with tiredness starting to dawn on you.

“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“Straight for the kill,” Logan snorted. 

“Oh god,” Tucker mumbled into his drink.

“So help me, god.” You heard Garrett mutter under his breath. You turned your head to look at Garrett and found him already facing you. “We’re not answering that,” Garrett scoffed.

“There was a first time!” Dean gasped. 

“Everyone has a first time,” Garrett attempted to brush him off, but he replied too quickly to seem casual.

“That is not helping your case, G.” Logan chuckled.

Dean sat back, feeling victorious. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” you asked.

“That whatever this is–” Dean gestured between you and Garrett, “–has been happening for years.”

Garrett groaned. 

Tucker nodded thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m just glad you finally showed up. He’s been unbearable this week.”

“I have not.”

You laughed again, and before you could think about stopping yourself, you leaned your head against Garrett’s shoulder. 

Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was, and Garrett didn’t even hesitate before leaning back.

Dean, Logan, and Tucker exchanged identical looks like before. None of them said a word. They didn’t need to. The answer to every question was sitting right there on the couch for them to see. 

The next morning, you woke up to Dean banging against the bedroom door. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds. You turned slightly and felt your cheek brushing against Garrett’s bare skin. The bed was a sight of tangled limbs and Garrett’s head tucked into the crook of your neck. 

The persistent knocking caused him to shift in his sleep, an arm instinctively tightening around you. 

“Gare, I cannot breathe.” You attempted to pull yourself away from his grasp.

“Baby, it’s too early,” Garrett murmured in your ear, not aware of the knocking yet.

“Guys, wake up, we want to go to breakfast!” Dean yelled from the other side of the door. 

“Dean, just come in,” you permitted him. 

The door creaked softly, and Dean entered the room with a hand covering his eyes. “Angel, are you guys decent?”

“You wish I wasn’t.” You chucked a pillow at him, which he annoyingly caught.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Garrett grumbled, realizing Dean was in the room. 

“The guys and I want to get breakfast at Malone’s, and Angel hasn’t been yet, so it’s perfect.” Dean begun. “We’re leaving in 30 minutes.”

“That sounds great. We’ll be ready,” you told him. 

“Okay, okay, now get out,” Garrett shooed Dean away. 

“Angel, you see what we’ve had to deal with?”

“Try dealing with him for your entire life,” you countered.

“You’re a strong woman.”

“The best. Now, seriously, man, out.” Garrett pointed an arm to the door. 

“Fine, but you guys better be downstairs soon!” Dean said as he shuffled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Finally,” Garrett mumbled, tucking his head back into your neck.

“Bub, we have to get up.” You ran a hand through his hair. You felt him smile against your skin. “Come on, let me up,” your hand continuing to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Baby, I haven’t woken up with you in my arms for months. You’re breaking my heart here.” Garrett expressed, trying to be serious, but the whisper of a smile played at the edges of his lips. 

“You are being dramatic.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fortunate for me.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead and finally loosened his grasp around you. 

You rose from the bed and stretched. You looked out the window. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Garrett replied. You turned back to face him. 

You found him already staring at you. 

The drive to Malone’s was chatterful. Your car was chosen, but the designated driver was Garrett. You were seated in the passenger seat, holding Garrett’s hand in your lap. The backseat arrangement was laughable. Dean, Tucker, and Logan, in that order, were squeezed into your back seats, which you always felt like were spacious when driving with your friends. But with three hockey players in place, they were like a tin of sardines. 

When Garrett finally parked, Logan was the first out of the car and almost tripped over his own legs, with Tucker trying to push him to get out faster. 

Logan beat Garrett to opening your door. “Angel,” he said, a smirk pinching at his cheeks while he offered his hand to you. 

“You’re doing this on purpose.” You stifled a laugh as you peeked at Garrett, who was five steps short of your door. 

“Let me have this one?” Logan whispered. You took his hand and got out of the car. Rather than letting go of your hand, he wrapped your arms together and guided you to the entrance of Malone’s. “You are going to love this place, Angel.”

“Petal.”

You heard him say from behind you, turning back to look at him. “Yes, Gare?” 

Garrett Graham would never admit to pouting, but lo and behold, a sliver of a pout was edging his lips. “You’re just leaving me behind?” he gaped. Instead of responding, you let Logan lead you guys in. 

“Snubbed by your own girl, that’s got to be tough.” Dean clapped a hand on Garrett’s shoulder. 

“G, stop moping and let’s go. I’m hungry, man,” Tucker told him, heading in after you and Logan. 

Inside, you and Logan were waiting by a booth. Logan slid into one side, and you to the other. Tucker sat next to Logan. Dean dragged over a spare chair, spun it around backwards, and sat at the end of the booth. Garrett stopped at the edge of the booth. “Oh, now you want to be next to me?”

Ignoring his dramatics, you looked up from the menu. “What do you guys usually get?”

Garrett sighed pitifully. He slid next to you and snaked his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. You automatically put the menu in front of both of you. “You’ll like the berry waffles.”

“Sounds yummy.” You leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You’d think they didn’t wake up next to each other,” Dean teased. “Garrett, get a grip, dude.”

Even with the teasing, Logan, Tucker, and Dean enjoyed seeing Garrett like this. A kind of softness that he never really displayed to people besides you. The tenderness as he whispered to you as if no one else existed. The way the menu was shared, and Garrett was pointing out all the things he thought you would like to try at some point. 

A waitress came by with coffee. Without asking, Garrett reached over and slid a mug in front of him before adding two sugar packets. Then a splash of cream. He stirred it once before pushing it toward you. “There.”

“Thanks, baby.” You took a sip. “Perfect.” You pressed a kiss against his jaw. 

“You didn’t even watch him make it,” Logan commented.

“I don’t have to?” Your eyebrows pulled together, showing your slight confusion. 

“You just trusted whatever he put in it?”

“He’s made my coffee since I first started drinking coffee.”

Logan blinked. “They’ve killed me.”

“God, I forgot that you guys have been married for years,” Dean joked.

Tucker ignored the rest of the group and got to ordering. The rest of you followed suit. 

Around the diner, people had definitely started noticing. Mostly because four starting hockey players were difficult to ignore, especially when one of those players is the captain, Garrett Graham. What really stuck out was you, the unfamiliar girl who leaned into his side as if you belonged there.

Whispers bounced between tables. 

“Who is she?”

“Is that the new transfer girl people have been talking about?”

“How does she have Graham bringing her with the guys?”

“I thought he said he doesn’t do girlfriends.”

Two girls near the counter glanced over one too many times. One leaned toward the other. “I’ve literally never seen him with a girl before.”

“Maybe she’s his sister.”

You happened to laugh at something Garrett said, but the smile that was plastered across his face said it all. 

One of the girls frowned. “Definitely not his sister.”

Dean noticed before anyone else. Without turning around, he spoke just loudly enough for it to reach anyone sitting at the counter. “Man.” The others looked at him. “It’s amazing how people forget that minding their own business is free.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Tucker said bluntly. The whispering behind him immediately quieted. 

Logan casually leaned back in the booth. “It’s almost like we have our own lives.”

There was a softness that came over your features. It radiated such appreciative affection for such new, devoted friends. The guys defended you as if you were their own, without a second thought or hesitation. 

Dean caught your eye and winked at you. “We’ve got your back, Angel.”

“Always,” Logan added.

“You’ve got us for life, Angel,” Tucker finished.

“You guys are going to make me cry.” You teared up a bit, and your face flushed with heat at the gesture. Garrett rubbed at your side soothingly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Angel, we’re practically family already,” Logan reasoned, sending you a sweet smile.

“I am going to be the best uncle ever,” Tucker claimed, nodding his head. 

“But I get to be the Godfather,” Dean asserted in full seriousness, but the act dropped quickly with a grin spreading across his face. 

“We’ll play rock, paper, scissors for it.” Logan contended, waving a hand at Dean.

Garrett snorted, shifting the attention to him. “Unlikely,” he scoffed jokingly under his breath, but it wasn’t quiet enough for the guys not to catch it, and especially not for you. 

You pressed a hand against the one he had on your side. Your thumb rubbed circles against his knuckles. 

“Listen, buddy, we never said you had to be the dad,” Logan tutted at Garrett. 

You felt Garrett stiff beside you. “That’s not even funny, man.”

“Oh, this is gold.” Tucker snickered at Garrett’s obvious displeasure at the mere idea of you creating a life with someone else. 

“I’m fine.” You all caught on to Garrett’s voice and how defensive he sounded. 

Dean wasn’t ready to end Garrett’s suffering just yet. “You want blond babies, Angel?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “They’d be beautiful.”

Your whole body shook with laughter at Dean’s insinuation. You didn’t see Garrett’s face, but the guys did. The way his brow wrinkled into a deep frown.  His right eye twitched while he was glaring down at Dean. “Godfather, typically means you’d have to be alive for the role.” 

Dean paled slightly. Instead of replying, he took a long sip from his water, gulping awkwardly. 

Tucker had put his hand to muzzle his laugh that was threatening to spill out. 

Logan was suddenly very interested in a ketchup bottle. “These ingredients are so funny.”

The waitress came up to the table with breakfast, unaware of the scene she was walking into. “Hope you all enjoy,” she said, setting plates in front of each of you. She refilled your waters before finally walking away from the booth. 

Garrett’s frown dropped just like that. Before you could reach for the syrup, Garrett poured it perfectly on your waffles. You grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. You took a bite of about half of it before you offered it up to Garrett’s mouth. He ate the rest without questioning.

Neither of you looked exactly at each other, but the way you moved with ease and avoided bumping into one another said it all. 

Neither of you broke the conversation either. Garrett asked if you liked the waffles. You nodded sweetly, taking another bite. He hummed, satisfied in response. It happened so naturally that it was obvious that neither of you even processed how you guys were. 

Across the table, Logan stared. 

Then at Tucker.

Then at Dean.

“I think we’ve been upgraded from roommates,” Logan muttered to the two.

“We’re just watching these two domesticate each other in real time.” Tucker looked a bit in awe at how evidently you both were in tune with one another. 

Dean nodded solemnly, “I think we’re witnessing a thirty-year marriage before the first date.” He took another bite of the pancakes. “They’re hopeless.”

You and Garrett looked over. “What?” you both asked at the same time.

The three roommates burst into laughter. You and Garrett looked at each other, and despite having no idea what was so funny. You both started laughing, too.

Della, from behind the counter, watched the way the five of you fit together. She had never seen the boys the way they are right at this moment. She immediately decided that you were a missing piece in a very chaotic puzzle of hockey players. You belonged at that table. 

Breakfast lingered long after the plates had been cleared. 

The conversation drifted from hockey to classes, then somehow to the time that Dean accidentally set the kitchen toaster on fire. “It was defective,” Dean insisted. 

“It exploded because you put a Pop-Tart in sideways,” Tucker replied. 

“That’s a design flaw.”

“More like user error.”

You laughed at the pair, shaking your head. You tapped against Garrett’s thigh. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bathroom?” Garrett slid out of the booth to let you out.

“Mhm.” He helped you out like a gentleman and kissed your hand before you walked away from the table. 

You did head toward the hallway for exactly seven steps. Then you quietly veered toward the register, looking over your shoulder, and the guys were busy talking about the next home game coming up in a week. 

The waitress looked up with a smile. “Everything okay, honey?”

“Perfect, actually.” You pulled out your card that you had sneaked into your pocket before you left earlier. “I’d like to pay for our table.”

She glanced toward the booth. “The hockey boys?”

“Yeah.” You smiled.

“They’re usually fighting over who pays.”

“I figured.” 

“You sure? Honey, I’m positive that none of those boys would want you to pay.”

You looked over your shoulder again. The four of them were full of laughter. Logan was dramatically reenacting whatever play he was retelling. Tucker looked like he regretted encouraging him. Dean was adding in parts that Logan was leaving out. And Garrett. He was watching the conversation with that quiet little smile he’d worn almost all morning. 

It tugged at something in your chest. “They’ve been really good to me.”

The waitress followed your gaze. “You’ve known them for a long time?” She wondered. 

“Just the one I was sitting next to.”

She rang up the bill. You tipped her generously when signing off the receipt. When she handed your copy, you tucked it into your pocket along with your card before anyone could notice. 

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sweetie.”

When you returned, Dean looked up. “That was fast.”

“I think we’re ready to finish up here,” Tucker said. 

“I physically cannot move.” Dean leaned back and rubbed his stomach. 

“You had seven pancakes,” Logan reminded him. 

“I regret nothing.”

Garrett politely signalled for the waitress’s attention. She placed the check holder at the edge of the table. “Huh,” Garrett muttered when he reached for it. 

“What?” Logan asked. 

“It’s empty.” 

Dean frowned. “What do you mean it’s empty?”

“The bill.” 

“You guys already paid?” Tucker questioned. 

Garrett looked at the others. “I didn’t.”

“I was waiting for him,” Dean said, pointing to Garrett. 

“So was I,” Tucker admitted. 

The waitress walked by carrying another tray to pick up the empty plates off the table. “You boys are all set.”

Four heads turned. You busied yourself with applying some lip balm. “What?” 

Logan shook his head. 

“It was taken care of already.” The booth fell completely silent. 

Four pairs of eyes turned toward you. 

“Petal,” Garrett said. 

“No.” You stopped. 

“You paid?” He scoffed. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You absolutely paid,” Logan retorted. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Angel,” Dean said. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you shrugged. 

“Bullshit,” Garrett muttered. 

“Breakfast seemed like a pretty cheap way to say thank you for letting me into your lives so easily.”

The table was quiet for another moment. Then Dean stood up. “Oh.”

“What?” You glanced at him. Tucker and Logan slid out of the booth to stand as well. Garrett did the same. Your eyes flickered to each of them. They all shared a look and nodded. In a blink, you were bombarded by the four. They hugged, keeping you in the middle. “Guys, I can’t breathe.”

“Too late,” Logan mumbled.

“Petal, we don’t need that.”

You were holding up two different colored fluffy throw blankets. “Do you like the dark blue better or the gray?” ignoring Garrett’s statement. 

“You’re not going to use it, and it’ll end up on the floor.”

“I can use it in the living room.” You brushed him off. 

“Okay, fine, just get both. One for the living room and the other for the bed.” Garrett gave in.

You hummed to yourself triumphantly. “You see, that wasn’t so hard.” You brushed a faint kiss against the left side of his jawline before you put the blankets in the cart.

A husband who was in the same aisle with his wife had watched the short interaction between you and Garrett. He had a fond expression written across his face. “Son, happy wife, happy life.” He simply said before following his wife out of the aisle. 

“Are you planning a proposal I don’t know about yet?” You teased Garrett, grinning at him. Your faces were inches apart. 

Garrett brought a hand to your face with his thumb gently stroking your cheek. His face carried a relaxed smile. His gaze was locked into your eyes. “Not yet. But eventually.”

You wished his words would surprise you, but in reality, it was more of a confirmation than anything else. “I think we’re skipping a few steps.” You placed a hand on his chest, and you could feel the beating of his heart. 

“Like there would be anyone for me other than you,” Garrett murmured. 

You could tell he was holding himself back. The way he brought himself closer to you and tilted his face to yours. His pupils dilated, and you could feel his heartbeat start to quicken. “You know, for a second there, I thought you were finally going to do it.” 

“If I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

“Who said you had to?” 

His lips brushed against yours. It felt like he was trying to test the waters. Your hand slid from his chest to his jaw. The hand on your cheek pulled you in even closer, if that was possible. His lips smiled against yours. 

The gap finally closed. The way his lips parted against your own so gently. The kiss was chaste since you both were standing in a store. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He said, pulling away to look back into your dazed eyes. 

You pecked his lips again. “We never stood a chance.” 

“Against what?”

“Us.”

“It’s you and me forever, Petal.”

The next week breezed past you before you knew it. The transition to classes was easier than you were expecting. Another thing you thought was going to be difficult was you and Garrett, but really, other than stolen kisses in hidden hallways or late nights in the kitchen. The pair of you hardly had to change anything. 

Sure, Garrett was even more affectionate than usual, but it wasn’t overly done where the guys caught on to you two. It kind of felt fun keeping it between you and Garrett. Not that either of you meant to keep a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and anyone who had been around lately either assumed you were already dating or, like the guys, just got used to the fact that you and Garrett were suspiciously close.

Plenty of people on campus just thought that the new transfer student finally locked down the infamous Garrett Graham. Not many knew or cared to find out that you guys knew each other prior. No one found that you had moved in either, not that it was any of their business.

As much as you tried not to let it get to you, the puck bunnies were hard to ignore. Especially with the Briar Hawks having a home game soon, everyone was buzzing around you. From the guys’ endless practices and workout sessions to students’ nonstop chatter about the game and after-parties. 

Garrett was quick to assure you that the minute he found out that you were coming to Briar. He hadn’t even thought about another girl since. Not that mattered anyway. It wasn’t like you were a saint in New York. You had your fair share of dates that Garrett, over the years, pretended didn’t bother him when you would call him excitedly to prepare for one.

You could hold your own, but that didn’t stop the irk you would get overhearing the bunnies talk about “whatever” you and Garrett had would never last long before he got bored. 

You didn’t doubt your new relationship with Garrett. Even your mothers were rooting for you two to end up together, the second they found out about each other’s pregnancies. Garrett was yours just as much as you were his. It’s been like that since the two of you could walk. 

“Baby, I’ll see you and the family later at the game, I got to run to meet with coach. I love you.” was the last thing you heard from Garrett at seven in the morning before he hurriedly pressed a kiss against your forehead before heading out the room. You weren’t even fully coherent enough to reply. Just hummed happily before dozing back off. 

You decided that around nine it was time to get up for the day. You had the house empty to yourself. The first time since you moved in. Even with everyone’s hectic schedules, there was usually at least one or two other people home. Not that you minded the company, it let you know the guys better and their habits, which some were admittedly messier than others. 

Your feet padded down against the staircase. You found yourself looking for something in the fridge to make for lunch. With the game being later into the night, you had plenty of time to get ready for it. Right now, you chose to make lunch for the guys. You had bought a huge slab of salmon the other day and decided that it was the perfect thing to pair with some rice and steamed vegetables for the guys. Just like your dad’s game day lunch.

Music blasted in the house while you cooked. You set out individual meal prep containers that you hadn’t had the chance to use since you bought them. You portioned out a slice of salmon, rice mixed with quinoa, along with steamed broccoli and cauliflower to each container. It was close to noon, and you knew by the time you got to the arena, it would be perfect timing for lunch. 

You hadn’t told anyone that you were planning to stop by to drop off the food. The players were still on the ice when you entered the arena. You stopped to sit down a few rows behind the players’ bench while you waited for them to finish their drills. No one had noticed you yet, except for Coach Jensen.

His brows drew together as he tried to figure out if he recognized you. At first, he assumed you were a bunny trying to sneak into watching practice, but his eyes landed on what seemed to be a thermal food bag. 

“Definitely a girlfriend.” He thought to himself.

He saw how you watched the boys with trained eyes. It was as if he could see you mentally noting what some of them could work on. That piqued his interest. “Okay. Let’s head to lunch!” He called out to the players on the ice. “I thought I said no girlfriends during practice.” He threw in right after, causing you to snap your head in his direction and see him already looking back at you.

“I’m just dropping off lunch!” You sheepishly called out. You made your way down, and Garrett was quick on the ice to make it over to you. “Hey, bub.” You smiled, watching him take off his helmet. 

“That’s the missus, coach!” Logan hollered from across the ice. 

“Angel!” Dean’s voice boomed with the sound of his skates coming to a stop near you and Garrett. 

Tucker was the only one out of the four to catch what you told Coach Jensen. “I heard lunch?”

“I hope that’s for us too and not just, G!” Logan called out, making his way over.

“Missus?” Coach Jensen questioned to himself more than anyone in particular. 

“Is that the transfer from New York?”

“I want lunch, too.”

“She’s the one G was with when we saw him at Malone’s the other day.”

“I didn’t know bunnies made lunches.”

That was the chatter that was amongst some of the other players. 

Garrett tuned them out and honed his attention to just focus on you. “You didn’t have to bring lunch for me, Petal.”

“Great! Because I didn’t make it just for you.” Your voice was loud enough for Logan to hear, resulting in him whooping out a cheer. You brought the bag to your front and shook it ever so slightly at the four. “If your coach is okay with me bringing food to feed some of his players…” You trailed off, glancing back at Coach Jensen, who simply was amused by this whole interaction. Never in his life had he seen his star player/captain turn so soft in a matter of seconds, or give any girl the time of day on a game day. 

“Whatcha got to feed these hooligans?” He walked over. You opened the bag for him to take a peek in. He could see the stack of meals you prepared for the guys. His eyes spotted how you made sure to take into account protein and grains along with the vegetables. “Not too bad.”

“Approved?” you said hopefully. 

“Just make sure they get back to me after lunch is over.” He winked at you in approval before making his way to the locker room. 

“Give us a bit, Petal. We’re going to take off the gear, and we’ll come back out. Make yourself comfy on the bench.” Garrett pressed a kiss against your cheek before skating off the ice.

The other three saluted you as they passed by, following Garrett to the locker room. It didn’t take them long to find their way back to you. By the time they returned. They noticed the four containers neatly laid out with a fork sitting on top of each lid, with a napkin placed underneath it. 

Dean whistled out, “Angel, you’re my favorite.” He started to pass around a container, so each one of them had one. 

Tucker had been the first to open it and see what you made. “Smells delicious, Angel. Is that rice mixed with quinoa? Oh, you’re good.” He complimented, blowing you a kiss.

“Our savior,” Logan greeted you with a side hug and a kiss against the top of your head. Before grabbing a container of his own and taking a seat. “Oh, TIGS.”

“Dude, what does that even mean?” Dean questioned him. “This is good shit?”

“No. This is god sent.” 

“Thanks, baby,” Garrett murmured to you in appreciation. He had found his place at your side. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah, it’s dad’s game day lunch.” You two were sat pressed next to one another. Your eyes scanned over to the other guys. A satisfied smile wreathed your lips.

Dean closed his eyes, letting out a blissful sigh as he swallowed. “G, you’re evil for not introducing us to Angel sooner.” 

Tucker paused to chew, pointing his fork at the salmon. “This is delectable. Thank you, Angel.”

Logan mumbled, his mouth still half-full. “Angel, where were you the past three years on game days? This is so good.”

Garrett just laughed at the three’s antics. “And this is why you didn’t meet them until now.”

“We heard that,” Dean called out. 

“How are you guys feeling about tonight?” you asked them, shifting the conversation. 

“We got to make sure we win your first Briar hockey game,” Logan affirmed.

“Not her first Briar game,” Garrett corrected before taking another bite of the food. The remark made the other three pause mid-bite/chew. 

“She’s been to one before?” Logan raised a brow at him

“Angel, we could’ve known each other much sooner!” Dean yelped dramatically. 

“Not the first hockey game, but my first official home game,” you explained. 

“When did you see one?” Tucker asked you.

“I’ve been to a few,” you admitted. “My first one was Garrett’s first game playing because how could I ever miss that? Then I’ve been to a couple away games you guys had when it was close to New York. Most recently before the transfer, I went to Garrett’s first game as captain.”

“Hold on a minute,” Dean said. “You’ve been to all these games, and we never knew?”

“Never needed to bring it up,” Garrett shrugged.

“Wait, is that you got so weird at some of the away games? I always thought you were nervous or some shit,” Logan said in an epiphany. He snapped at Garrett’s direction, “I knew it was weird when you didn’t come out with us after.”

“Like that Clovers game! I just figured you were meeting up with a bunny–” Dean was cut off.

“No, I took Petal to dinner after the game.”

“Oh, that was the nice Italian place!” You recalled it in your memory. 

“We don’t get taken to dinners after games,” Logan scoffed playfully. 

“We’ll take you to dinner tonight, Angel,” Dean offered with a grin.

“Even better, I’ll cook you dinner, Angel.” Tucker winked. 

“Sorry, boys. Not tonight. Gare’s got the family coming in to see this game. I’m sure Gramps will want dinner together tonight.”

“Your family is coming tonight? Like actually? I thought that was just like a joke your dad was making.” Logan gaped. “And your grandfather wants dinner?”

“Not with you shitheads,” Garrett snickered. 

You smacked his arm lightly. “Be nice. They can come if they want to.”

“Family dinner with hockey royalty,” Dean said, a bit starstruck.

“G, how are you not shitting in your pants?” Tucker said, baffled.

“Her dad is okay with her living with us, right?” Logan brought up.

“More importantly, he knows that you guys are sharing a bed?” Dean added.

Garrett put down the now empty container. “Guys.”

“Yes, my dad is perfectly fine with my living situation. He knows that we’re together, and he trusts Garrett. Well, I think the entire family has had a bet going on since we were conceived.”

“Ma, definitely had one with Mom. You remember when we went to Vancouver for vacation?”

“That was what? When we were ten?”

“Yeah, Ma slid over twenty bucks to Mom during dinner when I was cutting your steak–”

“YOU GUYS ARE TOGETHER?” Dean yelled out the second it clicked in his head.

“Honestly, quicker than I expected,” Tucker claimed.

“Let’s not kid ourselves. They were always together.” Logan retorted.

You tore your eyes from Garrett’s and looked back at the guys. You felt heat flush your face, realizing what you casually said. “Yeah, we’re together.” You couldn’t help the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth. 

“Since when?” Tucker questioned.

“The day we brought back the blue blanket from the couch.”

“Oh, I love that blanket,” Logan noted. 

“I know, it’s so soft!” You happily clapped your hands together. 

“It’s really warm, too,” Logan added. 

“You didn’t tell us sooner?” Dean wondered.

Garrett kept his eyes on you. How you animatedly expressed your love of the blanket. The way your eyes lit up when you talked. “Honestly, just slipped my mind. I mean, it’s just so natural being with her.”

“You talking about little old me?” You playfully fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I love being with you, too, love.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, pulling away with a gentle smile. 

By the time warm-ups began, the arena was already loud. Student sections were filling with painted faces and homemade signs. Lots of 44 were seen around the arena. The pep band was halfway through the fight song.

Garrett tapped his stick against the boards before skating another lap, absently scanning the stands. He always looked. Even when there wasn’t anyone to find. 

But tonight was different. Halfway up behind the home bench sat you, your parents, and grandparents. Your dad had a custom Garrett 44 hat, with your mom sporting 44 on her cheek. You spotted him almost immediately and stood, waving both hands over your head. 

Garrett couldn’t help but smile. You were wearing his jersey. His actual jersey. Not one you’d buy from a gift shop. One he’d given you the second you started talking about wanting to plan your outfit. 

You gestured to your parents excitedly. Garrett came to a stop, and he scanned the seats next to you. His pause was noticed by Logan. He lifted his stick toward the stands. 

“What a night,” Logan looked over in its direction.

Dean nearly skated into Logan. “Man, what are you looking at?” Then he saw them too.

Tucker answered before anyone else. “That’s the family.” His eyes looked over two seats next to you, and rest assured, your grandfather sat there with the quiet confidence of someone who’d once stood behind an NHL bench for nearly twenty seasons. 

Dean examined your grandfather. He looked older now compared to clips from his coaching days. The former head coach of the New York Rangers. A living legend. Not to mention your father, who sat next to you. Dean looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “They came for him.”

Your grandfather looked down toward the ice. He spotted Garrett and raised one hand. Garrett’s smile widened even more. He lifted his glove and waved back. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Logan stared. 

You laughed from the stands and leaned over to say something to your dad. He smiled, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “ATTABOY, SON!” The words echoed faintly across the ice. Garrett let out a laugh, then tapped his stick twice against the glass in front of them.

The announcer interrupted, “Ladies and gentlemen.” Warm-ups were over.

The game was fast and physical. Two teams were fighting to lead the conference. By the end of the first period, it was tied one to one. 

Logan threw a huge hit that brought the crowd to its feet. Dean blocked a shot that probably should’ve gone in. Garrett had two chances and saved both. Every time he returned to the bench, his eyes drifted toward your section.

To the same five people who always cheered him on and like how they always would.

Late in the third period, it was still a tie game with only three minutes left. The arena buzzed with nervous energy. Coach Jensen leaned over the boards. “One more shift.”

Garrett nodded, and the puck dropped. Tucker won it clean, and it was back to Dean, then across Logan, who’d carried through center before slipping it wide. Garrett caught it in a stride. There was one defender. Garrett cut inside and the defender bit. Open lane. For the smallest fraction of a second, everything went quiet. He had snapped the puck. 

Top corner. Bar down. Ping. The sound rang through the arena. The red light exploded with the building erupting. Goal.

Students leapt to their feet, and the bench emptied over the boards. Logan tackled Garrett first. Dean nearly knocked both of them over. Tucker arrived a heartbeat later. The arena shook with applause. You were already screaming with both hands over your mouth and tears filling your eyes. 

Your dad was on his feet, clapping so hard that his palms had turned visibly red. Your grandfather stood beside him, grinning with unmistakable pride. The television camera caught them easily. “Hockey royalty celebrating that goal,” one commentator laughed. “Looks like they approve.”

The final horn sounded moments later. Briar Hawks won.

When Garrett stepped off the ice, an arena attendant waved him over. “They’re waiting.” He didn’t need to ask who. The family entrance hallway smelled faintly of popcorn and fresh ice.

The moment that Garret rounded the corner, “There he is!” you ran to him. He caught you before you even reached full speed, lifting you clean off the floor as you wrapped yourself around him. “I almost lost my voice!”

He laughed into your hair. “I heard.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss him. Like it belonged there with such ease. When you stepped aside, your dad opened his arms. “Come over here, son.” Garrett didn’t hesitate and hugged him tightly. 

“Good game, Pop.”

“You kidding?” Your dad squeezed his shoulder. “That release would’ve beaten me.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Garrett attempted to be modest. 

“I know,” your dad brushed Garrett’s hair back from his face. “But I mean it.”

Next came your mom. She cupped his face in both hands before pulling him into a hug. “You look exhausted.”

“I feel exhausted,” Garrett admitted.

“You eating enough?” Your mom tapped his cheek.

“Ma.”

“I asked a question.” She persisted.

“Yes, Ma.” Your grandfather stood, waiting with his hand tucked into his coat pocket. Garrett stopped in front of him. “Hey, Gramps.”

The older man looked over him for a long second and nodded, “I’m proud of you.” 

Garrett swallowed hard, “Thanks.”

“You earned that one.” The former coach clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Now stop standing around me and go stand next to Petal.” You immediately slid back to Garrett’s side. Your grandfather pointed between you two, “Took you long enough.”

Your mom laughed. “I was beginning to think I should’ve agreed to a betrothal that your mom and I talked about once.”

Your dad shrugged, “I would have given them another year.”

Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. “It was obvious?” Every member of the family stared at him. He sighed, “Never mind?”

“Hey!” Another familiar voice echoed down the hallway. Dean, Logan, and Tucker rounded the corner, still carrying pieces of their gear. They stopped the second they saw your family. Every single one of the three stood a little straighter. 

Dean whispered, “Oh my God.”

Logan elbowed him, “Be normal.”

“I’m trying,” Dean told him.

Tucker quietly failed to hide his awe.

You laughed, “You guys! Come over here!” You motioned them over. “This is Dean, Logan, and Tucker,” you introduced them to your family. The three hockey players suddenly looked like nervous freshmen again. 

Your father smiled first and shook each of their hands, “Good game, boys.”

Dean looked as though he might frame the handshake. “Sir, I watched your highlights growing up.” 

Your father laughed. “Now I feel old.”

“You are old,” Your grandfather commented. 

“I walked right into that one,” Your dad admitted. 

The former head Rangers coach shook hands with each of them too. “I like watching your line.” The three roommates collectively forgot how words worked. 

“Thank you, sir,” Logan managed. 

“That means a lot,” Tucker remarked.

Your grandfather smiled, “You boys play the game the right way.”

Dean quietly leaned toward Garrett and you, “I’m never washing this hand.”

Garrett snorted, and you laughed, leaning into his side, “I figured.”

Your mom looked around the group. “So, who’s hungry?” Every hand went up, and she laughed, “Perfect, go get changed and let’s head out.”

The players immediately obeyed. Garrett kissed the side of your head. “I’ll be back out.”

As the guys started walking together, Dean drifted beside Garrett. “So…”

“What?” Garrett glanced over at him. 

“They really are your family.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked back to the group waiting for them. At the people that had supported him through everything. Then looked back at the guys, the friends who had become brothers. Then back to you, watching as you shooed him to hurry along.

He had everything he needed all around him.

[eddiazx]

the wedding wait - evan buckley x reader

Buck looks like he had gotten shot.

Or like you had shot a gaggle of puppies in front of him.

"Say that again for me, babe?" Buck questions, hoping that he had misheard or that you would change your statement once you realize the ridiculousness of it.

"We can't have sex until our wedding night." You confirm, going back to preparing dinner.

"Our wedding night is in three weeks." Buck states slowly, as if you didn't know or have it circled with a heart in every calendar in the house.

You roll your eyes at Buck, turning to face your back to him so you could focus on shredding cheese for tacos. "Well aware, honey. It would just be so much more special for us to wait those measly three weeks, though."

Buck's eyes drift down at your butt, almost like they had their own gravitational pull, and sighs longingly. It was going to be a long few weeks.

Buck wakes up on a Saturday, content and relaxed. He's spooning you, his arm on your stomach under your sleep shirt, and his downstairs neighbour is very happy behind you.

Buck presses a kiss onto your cheek, and feels you smile awake under his lips. You turn around to face him fully on your side, pressing your mouths fully together.

Mouths still attached, Buck tugs you towards him, hands caressing your back. Those very hands dip underneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear, when you detach from Buck's face.

"Nuh-uh." You shake your head and shuffle away from Buck.

Buck who had been fixated on your glistening, pink mouth, doesn't understand. "Huh? What nuh-uh?"

"There's still two weeks. No hanky-panky until then."

"Who says hanky-panky anymore?"

"Your future wife." You grin cheekily.

Buck groan-laughs and watches you get up for the day, completely smitten and fond. His neighbour downstairs was still very much awake and excited. Poor guy needed to prepare to be blue for a little while longer.

"Can we just do hanky without the panky?" He calls out as you enter the bathroom.

Your resounding laughter is the only response he gets.

One week remains until the wedding, and Buck was barely hanging on. It has gotten to the point where he was getting hard just breathing the same air as you. Which, to be fair, is pretty much Buck's baseline around you.

For example, right now, you were inconspicuously drinking a strawberry smoothie, scrolling on TikTok. However, your lips were wrapped around the straw in a way that had Buck obsessed, drooling from his place across the kitchen.

"One more week." You say matter-of-factly, eyes not lifting from your phone.

Buck huffs an amused laugh. Seven days couldn't pass quick enough.

Until finally, it was the night. Your wedding day was exceptional, no notes. Buck had teared up watching you walk down the aisle to him. The two of you had laughed and sobbed through wedding speeches, fed each other an amazing wedding cake that Eddie had ordered through his connections (Linda was most clearly his connection) and danced with every member of the 118. Every one of your guests were now straggling home, stomachs full of food and champagne and good memories.

The two of you sat in the backseat of a nice, vintage car that was taking you both to a fancy hotel near the wedding venue that Athena kindly sprung for.

You rest your head on Buck's shoulder, fingers with a newly adorned wedding band tangling with his. "How was your first wedding day?"

"10 out of 10. Looking forward to the finale." Buck waggles his eyebrows.

You throw your head back in laughter, but tug him out of the car once it's parked in front of the hotel.

The elevator ride to your floor is charged, the tension thick and heavy in the metal box. You and Buck stand at opposite ends, staring at each other with something like wonder - that this day had finally come, that the two of you have joined lives officially in the eyes of the law - but also hunger. Buck looked ready to eat you alive, and you couldn't wait to be served to him on a silver platter.

The elevator dings to signal that the two of you had arrived to the floor, and before you can step forward, you're scooped into Buck's arms, one arm under your legs, and one to support your back. A bridal carry.

You giggle, giddy that you now share this beautiful man's last name, as Buck fumbles with the key card while still trying to hold you upright with one arm. You take the card from him, and scan it flawlessly in one-go. The two of you stumble into the room, and Buck gently drops you onto the middle of the mattress while he hovers over you.

"Hi." He smiles broadly.

"Hi." You grin, just as brightly.

"I'm glad I married you."

"Likewise."

Buck captures your lips again, and his hands start roaming gently. His fingers still under your wedding dress, tracing lettering on your underwear.

He ducks underneath your dress to see - and sure enough, on white satin underwear, was "just married" in tasteful black lettering. Buck's eyes darken possessively, only a sliver of blue visible in blown out pupils.

The two of you only let up for air hours later.

The three week wait was definitely worth it.

[kooksandpearls]

garrett graham ❄︎ hydration based situationship.

pairing – garrett graham x nursing student!reader summary – the emergency department is busy enough without garrett graham showing up with fresh ice and boyfriend behaviour. warnings – fluff, nursing clinical/ED setting, hospital setting, teasing, situationship denial notes from me – this was so fun to write hahahah!! thank u for the request, anon!! <3 also not rlly proof read properly – sorry babes! word count – 1k

navigation – masterlist |

The ED nurses figure her out by day three, which feels deeply unfair, because she’s spent three days trying to be professional, helpful, and invisible enough not to get eaten alive by the pace of the department.

It isn’t that Renee and Tasha are unkind. They’re the opposite, actually, which is somehow worse for her emotional stability. 

Renee has the sharpest eyes she’s ever seen and the patience of a saint until someone touches her trauma cart, at which point she becomes the kind of woman men instinctively apologise to before they know what they’ve done. 

Tasha wears pink compression socks with little ghosts on them and can talk down an agitated drunk, prime tubing, bully a resident into rewriting an order, and explain cardiac rhythms to a student without making her feel like her skull is full of soup. They are, in every possible way, terrifyingly cool. They’re also nosy as hell.

“So,” Tasha says, two hours into the shift, while restocking gauze like this is casual and not the fifth time she has circled back to the topic since Tuesday. “The curly-haired one from the other day.”

She doesn’t look up from the chart she’s pretending to understand on the computer. “Logan?”

Renee snorts. “Baby, don’t insult me. The other curly-haired one.”

She clicks into the wrong tab and immediately has to back out. “Garrett.”

“Mhm.” Tasha’s voice goes warm with victory. “Garrett.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Renee leans one hip against the counter, unimpressed in a way that makes her feel twelve years old and badly prepared for a spelling test. “Nobody asked.”

“You were about to.”

“I was about to ask if he always looks at you like that.”

Her face heats fast, crawling up from the collar of her scrub top into her cheeks in a way that makes the whole nurses station feel suddenly overlit. “He doesn’t look at me like anything.”

Tasha hums. “Oh, sweetie.”

“Don’t oh, sweetie me in an emergency department.”

Before Tasha can answer, the automatic doors sigh open near triage, and the morning rush shifts around the sound. A kid crying into his mother’s shoulder. Someone coughing behind a mask. The steady slap of sneakers on linoleum. She glances over because movement has become part of her peripheral nervous system now, and then her whole body does something stupid and bright before her brain catches up.

Garrett’s standing just past the triage desk in a Briar hoodie and athletic shorts, hair still damp at the ends from morning skate, one hand wrapped around the handle of her enormous cream Stanley tumbler like it’s evidence in a crime scene. He scans the department once, all broad shoulders and easy posture, and then spots her behind the nurses station.

His grin arrives first.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Renee says quietly.

She ignores that with every ounce of dignity she has left, which isn’t much, because Garrett’s already walking over with that loose athlete confidence like hospitals are just another place he can move through if he smiles politely enough.

“Hey,” he says, stopping on the public side of the desk. He lifts the cup a little. “You left this in my car.”

“Oh.” She looks at it, then at him, and the ridiculous rush of relief in her chest is so embarrassing she wants to smack herself with a clipboard. “That’s okay. Thank you. It’s been kinda crazy this morning, I hadn’t even noticed I didn’t have it.”

“Yeah, I figured.” His eyes move over her face, quick but not casual. Like he’s checking the placement of all her pieces. Hair coming loose near one ear, badge twisted sideways, pen mark on the inside of her wrist, the faint tightness between her brows she didn’t know was there until his gaze softens at it. “Didn’t notice until I got back in the car after skate.”

“You drove all the way back here for my water bottle?”

“It’s a big water bottle,” he says, like this is a normal defence. Then his mouth tips. “Didn’t want you getting thirsty.”

Behind her, Tasha makes a sound so small it barely counts as a sound. It still makes her want to dissolve into the floor.

She reaches for the tumbler, and Garrett’s fingers brush hers around the handle, warm and familiar and devastatingly nothing. “Thanks, Garrett.”

He doesn’t leave right away. He stands there for one second too long, chewing at his bottom lip like there’s something else sitting behind his teeth. The grin thins into something almost nervous, which is absurd on his face and somehow worse than the flirting.

“I, uh…” His eyes flick briefly past her, toward Renee and Tasha, then back. “Am I still coming over tonight?”

Her stomach dips, enough to make the noise of the department blur at the edges. “Yeah. Yeah, around eight?”

Garrett nods, the relief in him tucked down quickly but not quickly enough. “Sounds good.” His smile comes back softer this time, aimed right at her mouth before he remembers himself. “Bye, baby.”

“Bye,” she says, because her body has decided to betray every defence she’s ever built.

He leaves grinning.

The second the doors close behind him, Renee turns very slowly to look at her. Tasha already has one hand pressed to her chest like she’s just witnessed a proposal in curtain three.

She points at both of them. “Stop.”

“That’s your boyfriend,” Tasha says.

“He’s not.”

“That man brought you a forty-ounce hydration appliance before noon.”

“We just sleep together.”

Renee blinks at her. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious.”

“Baby,” Tasha says, far too gently. “I have been married twice and divorced once and I’m telling you right now, men do not drive across campus with a Stanley cup unless they’re in love or being held at gunpoint.”

“He had morning skate nearby.”

Renee lifts her brows. “Was the morning skate in your cupholder?”

She opens her mouth, finds absolutely nothing useful, and closes it again.

Tasha pats the counter once, deeply pleased. “Not your boyfriend. Of course.”

Renee nods, already walking away. “Real casual. Very low stakes. Hydration-based situationship.”

She looks down at the Stanley in her hands, at the little smear of Garrett’s thumbprint on the lid, and hates that she’s smiling before she can stop it.

to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for garrett fics.

[jadeittic]

how about when asked "who are the top 3 most handsome drivers" she always said lewis first and then the latters were different from time to time depended on her "well-behaved" list of the week so ppl knew who pissed her off around the time said question was asked?

YESSSS. lewis stays in her heart. the other two? yeah, that depends on how the week goes.

more about driver!yn

She didn’t mean to start a trend.

It was a Thursday media day in Spain, heat shimmering off the asphalt and a dozen microphones shoved in her face before she’d even unzipped her team hoodie. One reporter asked, casually, off-script, in the middle of a light-hearted segment:

“Okay, YN, settle this for us — who are the top 3 most handsome drivers on the grid?”

She blinked. Sipped her iced coffee. Looked at the camera.

“Lewis, obviously,” she said immediately, like she had it locked and loaded.

“Then… mmh. Depends. Let me check my ‘well-behaved list’ of the week.”

Cue chaos.

WEEK ONE — PEACE IN THE PADDOCK

No one’s crashed into her. No dumb tweets. No teammate sabotage.

When the same question comes up again in Monaco, she flashes a smug smile.

“Lewis. Charles. George.”

Charles fist-pumps when he hears it replayed in the hospitality. George posts it on his story with a sparkly filter and a “she has taste” caption.

Lewis, of course, doesn’t acknowledge it publicly. Just gives her a wink when they pass in the paddock. She pretends she’s not grinning.

WEEK TWO — Oscar cuts her off at Turn 5

There’s video evidence. She’s mid-overtake. Oscar shuts the door with the emotional detachment of a tax collector.

The next day, the media ask the question again. YN raises an eyebrow.

“Lewis.” “Alex.” She pauses, “…Fernando.”

Fernando, hears about it via Twitter and smirks.

Oscar hears about it from Lando, who is howling with laughter.

“Bro, she sent you to the shadow realm,” he says between wheezes.

“Fernando? She put Fernando above you??”

Oscar shrugs, deadpan. “At least I wasn’t replaced by Esteban again.”

WEEK THREE — Carlos steals her last protein bar

It’s not even a full-on fight. Just her walking into the Ferrari motorhome ready to spill gossip and finding him mid-chew, mouth full, eyes guilty. He tries to claim it was his.

It absolutely wasn’t.

She says nothing. Until the media asks the question again.

“Lewis.” “Pierre.” “Zhou.”

Carlos watches the clip on his phone, jaw slack.

“You’re joking,” he mutters. Charles is in the corner wheezing.

“She put Pierre and Zhou over me. Over me.”

“Maybe don’t steal food, man.”

WEEK FOUR — Lando throws her into the pool post-podium

She’s dripping, still in her race suit, as she storms into the Mercedes hospitality swearing vengeance.

The next day?

“Lewis.” “Esteban.” “Hülkenberg.”

Everyone is stunned.

Esteban blushes like it’s his first day of school.

Hülkenberg fist-bumps her in the paddock like it’s a victory.

Lando? Just stands there with his arms crossed and the most offended “I was there when you need me” face imaginable.

“Oh, come on.”

“Should’ve thought about that before you launched me into chlorine, Norris.”

WEEK FIVE — George breathes wrong during press

She’s asked a serious question. George interrupts to mansplain tire degradation like she’s new here.

She turns to him slowly. “You done?”

He stammers. She smiles. The internet eats it alive.

Next day:

“Lewis.” “Alex again, because he hasn’t annoyed me once.” “Yuki. Just to make George nervous.”

George sees the clip and immediately texts her:

You’re insufferable.

Through it all — Lewis stays at 1.

Always. No matter the week. No matter the drama.

One journalist finally asks why. On air.

YN blinks, slow and smug.

“Because he is the most handsome. And the rest of you should be grateful you’re even ranked.”

Lewis, watching from the sidelines, just smiles. Doesn’t say a word. But later that day, he walks past her in the paddock, leans in, and whispers:

“You’ve got good taste.”

She just smirks. “Obviously.”

user: she uses the handsome list as a threat. queen behavior

user: notice how lewis is always number one? girl’s in love and in denial

user: lando falling off the list after one pool push and esteban ascending into the top three is SENDING ME

user: current week leaderboard: ✅ lewis (locked) ✅ alex (playing the long game) ✅ ??? depends who didn’t annoy her

[jadeittic]

More Than A Driver (Reimagined) Series Masterlist

summary: MotoGP legend joins Formula 1 with Mercedes, entering a season of extreme scrutiny, media pressure, and divided public opinion as she fights to prove she belongs on the grid.

pairing: formula one + female!driver!reader

warnings/tags: smau + irl, mentions about misogyny, cursing here and there

notes: this is my old series also named more than a driver, but reimagined because the original series just could not get out of my privates no matter what i tried. so i thought that rewriting the whole thing is the best thing i could do, and i can explain driver!yn and her experiences in more detail than i did in the original. thank you !!!

reblogs, likes, and comments are so so appreciated! if you want to read more from me, kindly submit in my inbox !!! xoxo

SERIES chapter one — unpleasant welcomes chapter two — private testing chapter three — tension rises in melbourne chapter four — will luck run out in shanghai? chapter five — internal interference chapter six — culprits in paddocks

[kooksandpearls]

garrett graham ❄︎ one shot.

pairing – garrett graham x reader notes from me – i know i usually only write rafe/drew but i'm on my second rewatch of off campus and i couldn't help myself!! warnings – alcohol, drunken silliness, soft/protective garrett, party chaos, mild innuendo word count – 4.1k

navigation – masterlist

The thing about Garrett Graham being on a one-drink limit was that it made him unbearably observant.

Usually, at parties like this, Garrett was loud in the easy way he always was when the room already liked him. Leaning against the kitchen island with a red cup in one hand, shoulder knocked against Logan’s while Tucker said something dry enough to make both of them laugh through their noses, still getting pulled into conversations every two minutes by guys who remembered Briar had a game tomorrow and thought “bury those assholes” counted as both analysis and encouragement.

He was still doing that, still smiling when somebody slapped his shoulder on the way past. Still nodding along when a freshman he vaguely knew started talking at him about the power play with the intense glassy-eyed sincerity of a man who had consumed too much cheap vodka and exactly one hockey podcast. Still charming people mostly by accident, because Garrett had never once walked into a room and thought maybe he should make himself smaller for everybody else’s sake.

But sober Garrett had range. Unfortunately for her, sober Garrett noticed things.

He noticed when Logan’s cup went from beer to something stronger. Not his problem. He noticed Dean talking with both hands while Allie stood tucked under his arm, laughing like she knew whatever came out of his mouth next was going to be either stupid or actionable. Also not his problem.

He noticed Tucker quietly moving somebody’s drink away from the edge of the counter before it got knocked onto the floor, because Tucker had always possessed the exhausting dignity of a man born already tired of everyone’s shit.

And he noticed the exact second his girlfriend put one hand on the kitchen bench again. That was his problem.

He’d already stopped this exact mission twice in the last ten minutes, which felt excessive for a girl who kept insisting she was literally fine while blinking a little too slowly and smiling at him like the lights had all gone soft around the edges.

The first time, he’d caught her by the waist and set her back on the floor with a calm, captainly, “Nope,” said close to her ear. The second time, he’d stepped between her and the counter like a very attractive barricade while she pouted at him like he'd personally cancelled fun.

Now she was trying again, because, apparently, the second a vodka cranberry and an Ariana Grande song got into the same room, her ability to retain recent history collapsed entirely.

Her skirt was too short for climbing. It was probably too short for several forms of normal standing, if Garrett was being honest, but that was between him, God, and the part of his brain currently doing threat assessment on behalf of her underwear.

Her heels were tall enough that Allie had called them hot but fucking dangerous when they arrived, and now one of them scraped against the cabinet front as she lifted her knee with absolutely no concern for balance, modesty, or Garrett’s long-term cardiovascular health.

Dean, from the other side of the kitchen, had been waiting for this. Garrett could feel it in the air. The man had made three separate comments about keeping her away from elevated surfaces and then looked personally enriched every time Garrett told him to shut the fuck up.

Garrett moved before the room really had time to understand what was happening. One second he was beside Logan, cup loose in his hand. The next he was behind her, cup abandoned somewhere near the sink, palm landing firm and warm against the back of her thigh as he tugged the hem of her skirt down with the grim focus of a man handling something highly flammable.

“Yeah, nope,” he said, low against her shoulder, his voice amused even as his hand stayed where it was. “Not doin’ that.”

She turned around like she'd been caught doing something cute instead of deeply stupid, her face bright with that pleased, unfocused warmth she got when the room had started moving a little faster than she could keep up with and Garrett was suddenly close enough to touch.

Her hands went straight to his chest, fingers sliding up the front of his shirt with drunken affection and absolutely no subtlety, and she beamed at him like she hadn't seen him in months. “Baby!”

Garrett looked down at her hands, then back at her face, his mouth twitching. “Hi.”

“Where were you?”

“Right there.” He nodded vaguely over his shoulder, where Logan had turned to watch them with the exact expression of a man who would rather die than become useful. “Saw you, like, ten seconds ago.”

“Oh.” She seemed to consider this very seriously, brows knitting for one whole beat before her face opened again, delighted by the rediscovery. “Hi.”

“Yeah, we did that part.”

She smiled anyway, her hands still sitting flat against his chest like she had every right to keep them there. Which she did. That was becoming a problem, actually. The newness of it. The fact that they were together enough now for people to know, for her to touch him without pretending it was accidental, for him to stand in a crowded kitchen the night before a game with one beer in his system and her skirt in his hand like this was a normal responsibility a man could acquire through dating.

She swayed into him. A small tilt of her weight, the kind someone else might have missed if they were drunker or less embarrassingly tuned to her. Garrett’s hand tightened at her waist before she seemed to notice she’d moved at all.

“Okay,” he said, dragging the word out in warning. “Bar stool. Right now.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, suspicious and visibly pleased. “That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it worked better.” He turned her neatly by the hips before she could decide the counter still had unfinished business with her. “Sit.”

She made a noise of offence, but she let him guide her onto the stool, mostly because it was already there and because Garrett’s hands were warm and annoyingly sure and doing that thing where they seemed to make decisions for her body a full second before her brain managed to file an objection.

The room tilted pleasantly when she sat. The bass pushed through the kitchen floor and up into the bones of her legs. Someone had spilled beer near the fridge and the tile caught lightly under the heel she kept tapping against the stool rung. Across the room, Allie was tucked into Dean’s side, laughing at something Tucker said while Dean looked over her head with the bright, vicious joy of someone watching Garrett suffer a romantic inconvenience in real time.

Garrett went to the sink and filled a plastic cup with water. He came back holding it out like evidence.

She reached for it.

He lifted it just out of range.

She blinked at him.

His face went blank in that innocent way that always meant he was about to become deeply irritating. “What?”

“Gimme.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m trying.”

She pouted. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m providing medical care.”

“You’re making me work for water, Garrett.”

His laugh came out before he could stop it, quick and real, his head ducking for half a second as if he was genuinely annoyed with himself for enjoying her this much. He lowered the cup again. She reached. He moved it left. Her fingers closed around absolutely nothing.

“Garrett.”

“Reflexes are a little rough tonight, huh?”

“I will break up with you.”

“No, you won’t.” He brought the cup close again, then jerked it back when she lunged, and she burst into giggles so hard her knee knocked against his thigh.

“Baby, this is bleak. This is like watching a kitten lose a fight with a shoelace.”

“I hate you.”

He finally let her take it, but only after wrapping his hand around hers to steady the cup because she came in too fast and almost sent half of it down her front. “Slow. Drink it like you’ve used a mouth before.”

She glared at him over the rim while she drank, which would have worked better if he hadn’t still been holding the cup with her. The water was cold enough to make her teeth ache, cutting through the sugary film of whatever Allie had mixed earlier and landing hard in the warm, spinning centre of her stomach.

Garrett watched her with his head tipped slightly, all amused mouth and attentive eyes, and she hated, immediately and deeply, how much she liked it. Not the fussing, she would deny enjoying the fussing until the end of time. But the way he did it. Like he could tease her without making her feel stupid. Like the joke was never that she was embarrassing him. Like he had simply accepted that she was drunk, pretty, badly behaved, and his to keep upright for the next hour.

His hand settled on her thigh while she drank, thumb resting just under the edge of her skirt, not doing anything much except being there. The contact was casual enough to look like nothing from the outside. From inside her body, it had weight. A small, steady point in a room full of noise.

Someone yelled his name from the living room. “Graham!”

Garrett turned his head. “What?”

A couple of hockey guys were waving him over, one of them yelling something about the line changes tomorrow and another immediately shouting over him that they were not talking strategy at a party because some of us actually know how to live.

Garrett’s attention shifted for barely two seconds. Barely. His hand left her knee. His shoulders angled away. And then the opening presented itself. It wasn't her fault. It really wasn’t. Because Ariana came on.

The song that reached into the middle of her chest and hit whatever drunk, glittery emergency button existed in girls at parties. The one that made Allie gasp from across the room and point at her because Allie understood. Allie knew. This was not about Garrett and his very boring anti-countertop agenda anymore. This was bigger than him. This was practically civic duty.

She set the water down very carefully, which felt mature enough to balance the scales of whatever happened next, and slid off the stool.

Dean noticed first. Dean noticed anything with potential for either nudity or injury, especially if both were being offered at once.

His whole face lit up. “Wooo!” he shouted, lifting his cup. “Get up there!”

Allie smacked him in the stomach, laughing even as she did it. “Don't encourage her.”

“What? I’m supporting women.”

“You’re supporting Garrett committing murder.”

Dean’s grin widened.

Garrett turned.

The timing was, unfortunately, beautiful. Her knee was already on the counter. One hand braced against the surface. Her skirt was doing its absolute best in conditions no garment that short should ever have been expected to survive.

She looked back over her shoulder at the exact moment Garrett’s expression shifted from distracted amusement to flat, immediate disbelief.

His cup was gone again. Nobody knew where he kept putting them. One second his hands were empty; the next they were on her waist.

“Alright,” he said, hauling her backward before the second knee could get involved. “We’re done here.”

She made a sound that was half laugh, half protest, her feet finding the floor with such minimal commitment to the task that he had to catch more of her weight.

“We’re done.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You were halfway to a public incident.”

She furrowed her brow, glaring up at him. “I was dancing.”

“You were climbing furniture.”

“For art.”

“For urgent care.” He bent a little to look into her face, and fuck, he was so annoying like this. So sure of himself. So warm around the edges of his authority that it made arguing with him feel less like resistance and more like foreplay’s better-behaved cousin. “Up we go.”

Her eyes widened. “Where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t this kitchen.”

“Garrett, no–”

But she was already laughing, because he had that look. The one that said he had made a decision and her role in the next thirty seconds was mostly decorative. His arm slid around the backs of her thighs, the other braced firm at her waist, and before she could do anything more strategic than clutch at his shirt, the whole kitchen flipped.

Light, ceiling, cabinets, Logan’s deeply entertained face, Dean’s open-mouthed delight. All of it went upside down in one warm, dizzy rush as Garrett threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing and he had reached the end of negotiations.

She shrieked.

Everyone cheered.

“Garrett!”

“Yup.” He adjusted his hold like this was a normal thing to be doing in somebody’s kitchen, one hand firm across the backs of her thighs, the other keeping her skirt decent. “That’s my name.”

She smacked his back, badly, mostly because she was laughing too hard to aim. “Put me down!”

“No.”

“I’m serious!”

“You’re drunk and upside down. You’re not serious.”

Dean was losing his mind across the room, bent halfway over Allie’s shoulder while she tried and failed to look disapproving. Logan lifted his cup with solemn respect. Tucker, because he had chosen betrayal, called, “Honestly, I think this is the safest option available.”

“I hate all of you,” she announced to the kitchen, though it came out wobbly with laughter because Garrett had started walking and every step made her bounce lightly against his shoulder.

Garrett paused in the doorway and turned just enough for the room to see her dangling there, hair falling toward the floor, cheeks hot, both hands planted uselessly against his back while her skirt remained under the firm jurisdiction of his palm.

“Say goodnight, everyone,” he said.

She lifted her head with great effort, spotted Allie first, then Dean, then Logan, then the blurry, bright collection of cups and boys and bad decisions behind them, and waved with both hands like she was leaving a pageant. “Goodnight, everyone!”

The kitchen erupted again. Dean actually clapped. Allie blew her a kiss. Logan yelled, “Hydrate!” with the confidence of a man who had not had water since Thursday.

Garrett carried her through the house, past the crush of bodies in the hallway, past two people making out badly against the wall by the stairs, past somebody’s abandoned jacket and an open front door letting in a thin slice of cold night air.

The music followed them out in pieces, bass first, then voices, then the muffled whole of the party dropping behind them as Garrett stepped onto the porch and the night came up around her bare legs.

The air sharpened everything at the edges. Damp grass. Car exhaust. The metallic bite of early spring. Garrett’s cologne caught in the cotton of his shirt where her cheek had ended up pressed against his back.

For a few seconds she kept wriggling on principle, because it seemed important for the record that she hadn't gone quietly. Then the path dipped slightly and the world swung with it, and she decided stillness had a lot going for it.

Halfway down the walk, she stopped struggling altogether and just hung there, arms loose, one heel slipping lower on her foot.

“Babe,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“You have a nice butt.”

Garrett did not miss a step. “Thanks, baby.”

“Like, really nice.”

“I know.”

She gasped, offended despite having introduced the subject herself. “You’re so cocky.”

“You’re upside down staring at my ass and giving live commentary. I feel like the confidence is evidence-based.”

She giggled again, softer this time, the sound spilling out into the cold. Garrett’s hand shifted against the backs of her thighs, careful with her balance, careful with the hem of her skirt, careful in a way that shouldn't have been noticeable when she was upside down and full of vodka and openly objectifying him, but was.

He could have made a thing of it. Could have rolled his eyes harder. Could have acted like taking care of his drunk girlfriend was some massive inconvenience being inflicted on him by the universe and Ariana Grande.

But Garrett just carried her like it was easy. Like she was funny. Like she was his problem, and he was, privately and embarrassingly, kind of pleased about it.

At his car, he set her down slowly, both hands at her waist until her heels found pavement and stayed there. The world rushed upright too fast, porch light blurring behind his shoulder, and she grabbed his forearms while her stomach took a second to remember where it lived.

Garrett watched her face, his smile fading into something more focused. “Good?”

She nodded, then immediately leaned forward until her forehead touched his chest because nodding had been a little ambitious. “Mhm.”

“That was wildly convincing.”

“I’m graceful.”

“You tried to climb a kitchen counter because Ariana Grande told you to.”

“She did.”

“She didn't personally tell you shit.”

She pointed one finger up at him. “You don’t know our relationship.”

His mouth curved again, and he brushed her hair back from her face, knuckles grazing her cheek in a touch so light it made her eyes want to close. “Your relationship with gravity is a little unstable right now.”

She looked up at him. The kitchen light was still on him somehow, caught in the angles of his face, in the dark sweep of his lashes, in the small amused pull at the corner of his mouth. He was close enough that she could see the faint scrape near his jaw from shaving, the tiredness tucked under his eyes from practice, the way his attention kept moving over her in pieces. Eyes. Mouth. Balance. Mood.

He was still teasing her, still Garrett, still unfairly pleased with himself, but under it sat the thing he did without announcing it. The checking. The steadiness. The hand already there before the fall happened.

She slid her hands up his chest again because it was the easiest place to put them, fingers curling loosely in his shirt. “Are you mad?”

Garrett looked genuinely insulted by the question. “At you?”

“Mm.”

“For trying to flash half the hockey team and die on a countertop?” He pretended to consider it. “Nah.”

Her mouth turned down. “That sounded judgy.”

“That was the edited version.”

“You’re mean.”

“I’m driving you home, giving you water, and preventing you from becoming a cautionary tale. I’m a hero.” His hands settled at her hips again, thumbs warm through the thin fabric at her waist. “A hot one, apparently. Nice butt. Heard that somewhere.”

She groaned and dropped her forehead back against his chest, and his laugh moved under her ear, low and pleased.

For a few seconds they just stood there beside his car while the party carried on without them, muffled and distant now, her body still buzzing with music and alcohol and the delayed embarrassment of nearly becoming a story Dean would tell until graduation. Garrett’s hand moved once down her back, then up again.

When she tipped her face up, he was already looking.

“What?” she asked, suspicious.

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing a face.”

“That's because I have a face.”

“A smug one.”

“Yeah, that’s genetic.” He opened the passenger door and guided her toward it, one hand hovering near her head so she didn’t knock it against the frame. “In.”

She sat with less dignity than she would have preferred, knees bumping together, one heel catching awkwardly on the floor mat. Garrett crouched before she could fully process the problem, fingers closing gently around her ankle as he straightened the shoe and set her foot flat. The intimacy of it caught weirdly in her stomach.

“There,” he said. “Both shoes accounted for. Huge night for us.”

She stared down at him. “You’re really pretty from this angle.”

He looked up, one brow lifting. “From the floor?”

“Mhm.”

“Good to know.” He reached across her for the seatbelt, and she took the opportunity to press a messy kiss to his cheek, catching more jaw than anything else. Garrett paused with the belt pulled across her lap, mouth twitching like he was trying very hard not to smile too obviously. “You missed.”

“I didn’t.”

“That was my jaw.”

“I know what I did.”

“Terrifying sentence.” He clicked the belt into place and tugged once to check it, then braced one hand on the roof of the car and looked down at her. “You gonna puke in my car?”

She considered lying, then made a face. “No.”

“Very long pause.”

“I was thinking.”

“That’s what scared me.”

She laughed, head falling back against the seat, and Garrett’s smile went helpless for half a second. There and then mostly gone, swallowed back under the usual cocky tilt of his mouth before she could do anything devastating with it, like point it out.

But she saw it. The fondness. The stupid, pleased little crease near his eye, like this – her drunk and difficult and half-asleep in his passenger seat, mascara probably doing something unfortunate, skirt riding high enough on her thighs that he reached in and tugged it down again with a muttered, “Jesus, baby,” – was somehow not a nuisance to him.

Somehow, it was worth smiling about.

He shut the door and walked around the front of the car, and through the windshield she watched him shake his head to himself, still grinning.

When he got in, the party disappeared almost completely. Door closed. Engine on. The car filled with the low blue glow of the dashboard and the clean, familiar smell of Garrett’s hoodie thrown in the backseat.

He handed her a half-full water bottle from the backseat. “Drink.”

She took it with both hands. “You’re bossy.”

“You like it.”

She hummed into the rim, then looked over at him with her cheek pressed against the seat. “Maybe.”

Garrett pulled away from the curb with one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over without looking to settle warm over her bare knee.

“Next party,” he said, “we’re putting you in pants.”

She made a horrified noise. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine. Longer skirt.”

“No.”

“Flats?”

She turned her head very slowly, giving him the full weight of her disappointment. “Garrett.”

He glanced over, and the grin came back. “Yeah, okay. That was too far.”

“Thank you.”

“But no counters.”

She sighed like he had asked her to give up art. “You’re ruining my brand.”

“Your brand almost gave Tucker a full view of your underwear.”

“Was he impressed?”

Garrett’s hand tightened on her knee. Enough that she felt the shift before she saw the look he kept aimed at the road. “Careful.”

Garrett Graham, competitive down to the bone. Still warm, still amused, but with that little edge in his voice that made her grin against the side of the water bottle because he was so easy sometimes. Pretty and cocky and gone for her in ways he kept trying to disguise as confidence.

She reached over and covered his hand with hers, fingers slipping between his. “I’m kidding.”

“I know.”

“You’re my favourite.”

His mouth softened before he could stop it. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Her eyes were getting heavy now, the night stretching into something blurred and honey-warm around the edges. “Even when you’re mean and anti-Ariana.”

“I’m pro-Ariana. I’m anti-head injury.”

She hummed again, sinking lower in the seat, her thumb moving lazily over his knuckles. The car rolled through the quiet streets around Briar, past porch lights and parked cars and the occasional burst of noise from other parties spilling out over lawns.

Garrett drove slower than usual, glancing over every so often like she might attempt to climb something inside the car if left unsupervised.

Maybe she loved that. Just a little.

Maybe that was the problem with him. The dangerous part wasn’t the grin, or the body, or the fact that half the girls at every party seemed to know where he was without looking directly at him.

It was this. His hand steady under hers. His hoodie in the backseat. His voice still teasing because he knew she would hate being fussed over too seriously, even while he kept watch like it mattered.

She turned her face toward him, smiling sleepily. “Garrett?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Next time she plays that song, I’m getting on the bench.”

He laughed under his breath, eyes on the road, thumb brushing once over the side of her hand.

“Mm,” he said. “We’ll see about that.”

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

[1-800-teax]

Not Bad, White Boy

Bucky Barnes x Wakandan!Reader

“White Wolf.”

Bucky turns at the greeting, getting more use to the name given to him as the days go on. He’s not quite sure why they call him that, but anything is better than ‘The Winter Soldier’.

Confusion licks him for only a moment as he takes you in, slender frame under traditional clothing rather than fighting leathers. You look a little different than the last time he saw you - your hair was much curler, not in the braids you have them in now and your face was clearer, not marked with white tribal paint.

“You were with Steve.” He states but it borders on a question.

“I was.” You nod, closing the short distance to stand next to him overlooking the lake.

He looks better, different but better. It had only been a few weeks since he had been released from the cryostasis and you have returned to your homeland. Shuri had been the one to update you on his recovery, after all you had promised Steve to look after his dear friend. She told you the kids took a particular liking to him.

A moment of silence passes between you both, your eyes taken in the African scenery and stealing glances at each other from the corners of your eyes.

“Thank you.” Bucky mutters into the open, small and quiet yet grateful. Bucky recalled how hard it was for you to be on his side, to go against your fiends, your King. In the end it worked out, but at the time it was a choice that was hard to carry.

You can recall the moments yourself, being frozen between fighting against people you’ve come to call friends and doing what you thought was right.

“A friend of Cap is a friend of mine.” You settle it, looking over with a little smile.

It leaves Bucky sort of confused by the sentiment. He spent 70 years not use to kindness, so having it in abundance now messes with his brain chemistry.

—

From that day, you visited more. Just to check on him, maybe to talk, sometimes to play with the children but nights like these are what he’s slowly getting use to. Some would say, he looks forward to it.

It’s late, the last orange rays of the setting sun wash the front of his hut in warm lighting. Your both sitting at the table, abandon stacks of kids drawings laying around and your chair is pulled closer to his.

“Ungubani?” The question comes and Bucky is prepared this time, he had been memorizing the language everyday since these impromptu lessons began. (Who are you?)

“Ingcuka emhlophe.” He replies back, slightly hesitant as if somehow he mixed up his words. You don’t outwardly show it but you’re proud at how quickly he’s picking up the language. For someone that hasn’t learnt IsiXhosa from an infant, it could be very hard to learn but he’s not bad for a white boy. He isn’t great but not horrible either. (The White Wolf)

He catches he’s the slight impressed look on your face and he bites back the small smile threatening to pull at his lips. “Not bad, White Boy.”

He feels like a school boy at your praise, he’s been alive a lot longer than you and he’s never met anyone that has affected him this much in such little time.

Bucky’s curiosity regarding you grows with every moment. He’d never admit it but once or twice he’s questioned the kids about you. He really couldn’t help it, he wants to know your story and it’s easier to talk to them than bribe them with the promise of playing in his hair.

“Mamela, James.” You cut him off, with a steady voice. You’ve taken to calling him James, a name he hasn’t gone by in a very long time and he hasn’t once corrected you. Because he likes it, he likes you giving him that part of himself again. (Listen, James.)

He doesn’t mind one bit at the firmness in your tone, he actually finds it funny how you take it all so seriously. How you help him understand the people and culture better.

“Jong-” You cut him off with a hand pressed to his chest. Whether you notice or not, Bucky realizes he doesn’t flinch when you touch him. His body doesn’t freeze or act on fight mode. He’s surprisingly calm.

“Jonga.” You emphasis the part of word messed up, “Here. Feel it in your chest when you say it.”

The moment is intimate in ways he can’t explain, the warm and steadiness of your palm pressing into his chest. The way your mouth moves with his, eyes focused on his lips as you encourage him to speak.

“Jonga.”

Releasing a hum of approval, you nod before slowly pulling away. The way he’s looking at you, so attentively that you have to look away to stop yourself from crossing a boundary.

Bucky isn’t stupid, he catches the shallowing of your breath, the way you can’t hold eye contact and how you mess around the papers littering the table.

“What does it mean?” He asks after a moment of just watching, and you swear the room feels smaller - warmer even.

He waits for you to answer, patient and quiet. When you look up, his eyes drown you just as yours capture him.

“To see.” And the irony of it is electrifying, because it’s as if the two of you are finally seeing each other.

—

Lowkey inspired by that scene of Jake and Netiryi in Avatar (2009) iykyk

[prettylittleky]

instagram did their thing with these gif notes😩

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

that old cliché.

you swore you’d never give in to the maid of honour and best man cliche. and then you met evan buckley.

evan buckley x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol. buck’s a filthy flirt.

word count - 6k

authors note - and so she returns!! thank you all so much for your loveliness on my post about my break - I appreciate it more than you know. this one was so much fun to write. i’ve not written any longer stuff for buck, but he’s a character I feel that I have a really good understanding of - I actually think we’re very alike - so this came so easy. hope you love it as much as I do. <3

masterlist. inbox.

Silvery melodies of laughter clink off the rim of the champagne flute you hold in your freshly manicured hand. As the gentle breeze whips through the material of your dress, you look around you, realising you’ve never seen so many people so happy at once.

The backyard of the Italian villa is packed, dozens of guests milling around - dancing, drinking, chatting and catching up. Family, friends, colleagues; people from every phase of the bride and grooms life, all celebrating together in one place.

A rocks glass is placed down onto the table in front of you with a thud. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of the best man towering over you expectantly with a drink in his hand.

“Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

You scoff, staring up at him through your lashes.

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yeah. But why?”

“It’s whiskey. I watched you grimace every time you had to drink the champagne, so I thought you’d want something different.”

You swirl the glass, listening to the tinkle of the ice against the sides.

“You were watching me, huh?”

“Of course I was. Can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

“Shut up,” you chide, fighting to keep the grin off your face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“The whole best man and maid of honour thing. It’s just too cliched.”

He laughs all hearty and genuine, and you poignantly ignore the way the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Evan.”

“Oh, you will be,” he winks, knocking his glass against yours in a quick cheers before walking off to the find the groom.

You watch him go, not completely oblivious to the way his suit fits him just right. Determined to stand your ground, you inhale a deep breath before taking a sip of your drink. The drink that definitely isn’t exactly what you needed. The drink that he’d practically read your mind to figure out. Effortlessly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s been like this all day.

You met Evan Buckley for the first time last night, at the rehearsal dinner. The bride, your best friend in the world, kept telling you that you’d love the best man.

“He’s from California,” she’d said. “He’s Danny’s friend from when they were kids. He’s a firefighter, babe. He’s hot.”

You’d laughed it off, zipping up the back of her dress while she watched you in the mirror.

“Oh, come on. That’s so cliched. The whole maid of honour and best man thing is so old, Lucy.”

“You’re single, he’s single,” she’d protested. “It’d do you some good to get laid, relieve some stress. And people let their guards down at weddings. Now’s your chance.”

“If I wanted to get laid, I’d get laid,” you scoffed.

“All I’m saying is that Buck is completely your type. He’s gorgeous, he’s funny, he’s sweet. And you’re gonna have to spend a fair bit of time together tonight and tomorrow, so… just keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” you soothed, rolling your eyes. “Mind wide open. Alright?”

“You’re gonna love him.”

“You said that already.”

“Because I really believe it. You’re gonna love him.”

And the problem is… she was kind of right.

No, you don’t love him. You’ve known him for 48 hours. But… there’s something.

Lucy wasn’t lying. He is gorgeous, and funny, and sweet. And hot. So hot. He showed up to the rehearsal dinner in dress pants and a linen shirt, all sun kissed and muscled and tanned and stunning.

The two of you were seated next to each other, planned so carefully by the bride and groom. One minute you were making cautious introductions, shaking hands and smiling gently. The next minute you were crying with laughter, clutching at his bicep as he grabs your thigh, legs intertwined and chairs pulled together.

Lucy and Danny nudge each other occasionally, watching the both of you get along like two old friends that have known each other forever. A look passes between them that says I told you so clear as day.

But you’re stubborn. Too stubborn, some may say. You know you’ll never hear the end of it from your friends if you give into this very alluring temptation, and perhaps your pride means a bit more to you than it should. So you resist, you refuse to give in. Even if you really want to.

And that was just last night. Today has been even worse.

By worse, you mean the connection between you and Evan has grown even stronger. You walked down the aisle with him, arm linked with his, both dressed up to the nines. The maid of honour and the best man, a perfect picture.

You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other all day. Little touches - his fingers on the small of your back, your grip on his bicep, shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. Nothing crazy, but nothing meaningless, either. There’s an undeniable electricity buzzing between you, hot and alive.

You’re not sure how much longer you can deny it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re dancing with Lucy and her little nieces when you hear yelling and commotion coming from the other side of the dance floor. Looking over, you see Danny, Evan and other groomsmen flailing around and fussing.

“What happened?” Lucy’s yelling, making her way over with you in tow.

“Just a drink spillage, Luce! But it’s red wine, and now Buck’s shirt is pink.”

You look at the man in question and can’t help but laugh. His crisp white dress shirt is now a pretty shade of pink across the front, his cheeks a rosy colour to match.

“Stop laughing,” he chides, but he’s grinning at you as he says it. “I need to go and change. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase upstairs.”

He starts to leave, but soon turns around and calls your name.

“I don’t have a key for that big door at the end of the hallway to get to our rooms. Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. You want it?”

“Just come with me. It’ll be easier.”

Before you can argue, he’s taken off, big strides across the garden. You have to practically run in your heels to keep up with him, shaking your head in frustration.

“I could have just given you this,” you say when you reach the door, unlocking it for him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The smirk he gives you is so cheeky, it’s a wonder you don’t smack it off his face. Cocky bastard.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, walking with purpose to his room.

“Come in with me? It’ll only take a minute, then we can walk back together.”

You know you should say no, tell him that you’ll meet him downstairs. But you don’t. Instead, you say,

“Fine. But hurry up. I don’t wanna miss the party.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes, unlocking the door to his room that’s conveniently directly across from yours.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid watching him undress. He shrugs off his now pink shirt, taking it with him into the bathroom.

You’re surprised at how tidy everything is. Not that you think Evan would be particularly messy, but he doesn’t strike you as a neat and clean type. His suitcase is unpacked into the closet, bed made, nothing on the floor. It only makes you like him more.

“Can you grab my other shirt from the closet please, gorgeous? The one I wore last night for the rehearsal dinner.”

You swing the two doors open and rifle around, failing to see the linen button up that he’s looking for. Suddenly, you feel a warmth behind you, Buck’s solid form caging you in. He reaches around you, arm brushing yours as he finds what he needs.

“Found it,” he murmurs into your ear, all low and honeyed.

Against your better judgment, you turn around, finding yourself face to face with him. He towers over you, watching your reactions carefully. Your hands reach out and rest on his bare chest, steadying yourself before you either fall over or pass out.

Buck gently traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes completely locked on yours. You have to resist every urge to either bite it or suck it into your mouth, reminding yourself that now isn’t the time. The noise from the garden floats up and through the window that’s cracked open slightly, tethering you to the reality that is slowly fading away the longer you hold Evan’s gaze.

He leans in, and to your surprise, doesn’t kiss you immediately. Pressing his forehead to yours, he inhales deeply, as if committing the moment to memory. His thumbs are now tracing gentle circles on your jaw, soft and callous at the same time. You inhale slowly, processing the scent of his cologne mixed with the evening breeze. If you could bottle it up, you think, you’d be a millionaire. This would cure everything.

Buck finally closes down the gap between you, inching towards your lips softly. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to finally kiss you - when there’s deafening knocking on the door. The two of you jump apart, hearts pounding and nerves on a live wire.

Evan strides over to the source of the noise, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself as he goes. You perch on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Buck? Dude, it’s Jake. Hurry up, yeah? The guys wanna do our dance routine before everyone gets too drunk to remember it.”

He doesn’t bother opening the door, just yells back through the wood.

“Yeah, sure - I’ll be down in a minute!”

You hear Jake’s footsteps retreat, both of you exhaling the breaths you didn’t know you’d been holding. Buck looks at you, worried that the moment’s been ruined, to find you stifling a laugh behind your hand.

“There’s a dance routine?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “We created it years ago. The guys won’t let it die.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

You’re cackling, reclining onto the duvet as you laugh.

“Stop,” he groans, jumping over to flop onto his back on the bed next to you. “I did a lot of regrettable things in college… and that routine is definitely the worst of it.”

“I hope you know that you’re never going to live this down, Buckley. I’ll be reminding you of this forever.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. “You really like me, huh?”

“What the hell gave you that impression?”

“You said forever. What’s next, honey? You gonna get down on one knee later?”

You’re suddenly aware of the warmth of the whiskey flowing through your veins, giving you a liquid confidence that stuns both you and the man lying next to you.

“Two knees, maybe. But not one.”

His eyes go wide as you smirk, pulling yourself off the bed and making your way over to the door. Buck watches you carefully, gaze steady and firm.

“You coming? I’m more than ready to see those moves of yours.”

He stands up, slipping on his shoes and shrugging the clean shirt onto his broad shoulders. You grab your purse, leaning against the doorframe as you wait.

Evan reaches past you for the door handle, nose purposely brushing yours as he does it.

“I’ll hold you to what you said before,” he murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from your face softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

You look up at him with big doe eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Sure, Evan,” you reply lowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Breaking away from him, you swing the door open, strutting down the hallway without looking back. Your confidence has sky rocketed, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do. You walk back out to the garden and take your earlier seat, ready for the show you’ve been promised.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dance routine is spectacular.

It’s cheesy and hilarious and very early 2000s inspired - it’s almost like watching a music video from a boy band you loved when you were a teenager. It should embarrass you, turn you off majorly, but… it doesn’t. It only does the opposite.

Everything Buck does makes you like him more.

You spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and floating on cloud nine. In a garden in Italy, surrounded by your best friends - you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

As the evening dwindles to an end, everyone slowly begins making their way back to their rooms within the villa. You sit down, unbuckling your heels to finally give your feet a rest. It almost feels like deja vu when a rocks glass is placed down in front of you on the table.

“Hi, Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yes, but why?”

He pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down, looking at you intently.

“Thought we could have a nightcap before we go upstairs.”

You look around to find that mostly everyone has decided to call it a day. You can see Lucy and Danny walking off hand in hand, going for a stroll around the grounds before they let the wedding officially be over. It just leaves you and Buck, sat in your original places.

“Is this Baileys?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you like it? I figured you probably wouldn’t want another whiskey, seeing as you’ve had so many.”

You scoff, trying to fight the grin that threatens to take over your face.

“I’ve had, like, four, thank you very much.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“Cheers, Evan,” you toast, clinking your glass against his matching one. “We did it. A wedding without a hitch. Mostly.”

“My shirt will never be white again, but besides that, we did a pretty good job.”

“We make a good team.”

He looks slightly taken aback by your honesty, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yes, we do. A super hot, super funny team.”

“A super hot, super funny team.”

You both laugh, heads thrown back with no cares in the world. Buck shuffles his chair forward so his legs are slotted on either side of you, warm skin radiating into yours. The moonlight is glinting off of his cheekbones, illuminating the light streaks in his hair. You’re a little tipsy and much too tired to fully fight your feelings anymore.

He’s beautiful, and you’re sick of denying it.

The two of you finish off your drinks, sat in a comfortable silence beneath the starry night sky. His hand has found its way onto your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle patterns into your bare skin. You’re sneaking glances at him when he looks away, admiring the way he’s glowing, buzzed off of the alcohol and the excitement of the day. He’s doing the same with you, soft smile etched onto his face as he watches you gaze up at the stars above your heads.

A yawn escapes you, making both of you chuckle.

“I’ll walk you to your room?”

“Well, you better. I’m the only one of us with a key for that big door.”

He laughs even harder, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. If you weren’t here, I’d have slept on the floor in the hallway or something.”

“Probably wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, standing up and tucking your chair under the table.

“Sorry, what was that? Say it again? Hmm? Hmm?” he wraps his arms around your middle, spinning you so your feet are no longer on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up,” you shriek, giggling like a teenager.

He places you back down, hands on your hips to steady you. You look up at him, keeping your eyes fixed on his to steady yourself from the dizziness. When you feel ready to go, you clear your throat, willing yourself to walk away before you kiss him stupid.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Separate beds,” you tell him sternly, chuckling when he cackles.

“Yes ma’am.”

Buck walks you back to your room in a gentlemanly fashion, looping your arm through his to keep you both upright. When you reach your door, your fingers linger on the handle, as if you’re not quite ready to go inside just yet.

Reaching out gently, he moves a strand of hair from your face, fingertips brushing your cheekbone as he does it. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sweet contact.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmurs lowly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

He takes a step back towards his door when you speak again.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything, today. You’ve been a damn good best man.”

“Well, thank you. For being the best maid of honour.”

You nod, smiling like an idiot as you unlock your door and shut it behind you. You take a deep breath when you’re finally inside, throwing down your heels onto the floor and your purse onto the side table. Reaching behind you, your fingers tug at the zipper on your dress, attempting to pull it down.

It’s only now you realise your dilemma. The zipper is on an awkward place on your back, right where you can’t get to. You think quickly back to this morning - one of the bridesmaids doing the dress up for you, pulling the material taut as she fastened it. You’re not going to be able to get this off yourself.

Finding the purse that you discarded minutes earlier, you aim to find a hair clip. If you can loop a bobby pin into the zipper, you think, you might be able to pull it yourself. You root around in it for a second, before pulling out two phones.

Well, fuck.

You’d completely forgotten that Evan had given it to you earlier in the evening, worried that it was going to get broken if it stayed in his back pocket. You’d tucked it away and not thought about it again.

Until now.

Now, you’re realising that you’re going to have to go and give it back. He probably hasn’t remembered that you have it, otherwise you’re sure he’d be knocking on the door or yelling across the hallway.

You stand in the middle of your room, with two phones and a stuck zipper, wondering if the universe thinks this is funny.

You’re certainly not laughing.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Evan?”

He swings the door open, facing you in his suit trousers with no shirt on.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I have your phone.”

Holding it out to him, his fingertips brush yours as he takes it from you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about this. Thanks, pretty.”

“Of course.”

You stand and look at each other for a second, so much left unsaid.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

His instantly willingness has butterflies fluttering in your stomach, flitting and lightweight and undeniable.

“Can you help me get my dress off?”

When he smirks and goes to speak, you cut him off quickly.

“The zipper is stuck, Evan. Alice zipped me up this morning and I can’t undo it by myself.”

“This is a very long winded way of asking me to get you naked, gorgeous.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“If that’s what I wanted, I would just ask you, Buckley.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Can you help me or not?”

He’s laughing, now, head thrown back with it. You hate the way it makes your heart sing.

“You coming in? Or you want me to undress you in the hallway?”

“You’re not undressing- fuck, you’re annoying.”

He’s still chuckling when he ushers you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you both.

“How do you wanna do this? Lights on, lights off? Curtains open or shut? Music? Candles?”

“Undo the damn zipper before I smack you.”

His laughter is rumbling through his chest, contagious in its nature. You want to be angry at him, but you just can’t seem to find it in you.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You spin to face the door, taking a deep breath as you anticipate his touch. You feel his warmth behind you, fingertips dancing over the skin of your shoulders before they reach your zipper. You can’t see him, but you can envisage the sight - his broad chest, thick neck, that beautiful sun kissed glow he’s developed over the past few days. Your lungs heave as the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

Buck slides the zipper down your back slowly, with intent and clarity. When it reaches your coccyx, he stops, resting his other hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You know you should step away, maybe throw him a quick thanks as you leave. But you do believe in fate, whether you like to admit it or not - and this entire night has felt like it’s been written in the stars.

Who are you to deny what the universe is so clearly gifting you?

You let your arms relax, sighing as the dress falls off of you and down to the floor. You step out of it, finally turning around to face Buck wearing nothing but your lacy white underwear. Surprisingly, there’s not an ounce of self consciousness in your body. The only thing you feel is desire.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Evan is completely speechless. His eyes rove over you, drinking in the sight in front of him, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in awe, fingers itching to reach out and touch you. “The minute I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me, please.”

He grins, surging forward to cup your cheek with one hand while the other finds its home on your waist.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

“Finally.”

Buck leans in and presses his lips to yours surprisingly gently, testing the waters. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He gets the message, reeling you in and deepening the kiss until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

You’re being walked backwards and into the wall, pushed up against it for leverage. You hike a leg up over Bucks hip, groaning when the two of you grind forwards at the same time. His hands are everywhere - your face, tits, ass, waist - anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s not quite sure where he wants them, as if he’s worried he’ll leave somewhere untouched.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he’s muttering into your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin. “Driving me crazy.”

“I got myself off last night,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he sucks at the spot under your ear. “Thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” he moans, sinking down to his knees in front of you. “Tell me more. Please.”

It’s almost biblical, the sight of him. On his knees, practically begging, looking up at you like you’re his saviour. You’re dizzy with the power, blood rushing straight to your head.

Buck presses kisses into your leg, starting at your calves and moving up. When he gets to your inner thigh, he gazes up at you, pleading with his eyes for you to continue.

“Tell me more or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down and off.

“Okay, okay,” you pant, dropping your head back against the wall. “I, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about your arms in that shirt. The, the, the-”

You’re stuttering as he licks a stripe up your core, diving in with no hesitation. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard you know it’ll bruise, and you can’t wait to feel the imprints in the morning.

“The?”

He’s pulled away to look at you with his brow quirked, dirty smirk etched across his face.

“Keep going, gorgeous. You haven’t even got to the good part. Neither of us have.”

You scoff at him in defiance, but slide your fingers into his hair to tug him back to where you want him.

“You looked so strong,” you continue, sighing when his tongue finds your core again. “Kept thinking about how easily you could throw me around. Pick me up, sit me on your face…”

Buck groans, all deep and rumbled, and the vibrations have your legs going weak. He doubles down on his efforts, slipping his tongue inside as his nose nudges your clit. He’s a fast learner, taking mental note of the spots and pressures that make your knees buckle.

“Keep going,” he mumbles into your core.

“You keep going,” you retort, pulling at his hair.

He chuckles but obliges your request, sucking your clit into his mouth with purpose. You’re shaking, holding onto him for dear life as you reach your climax. The moan you let out is borderline pornographic, and it has Buck palming himself over his suit trousers with a groan.

“Fuck, Evan,” you pant, chest heaving as you slump into the wall. “You need to grab me before I collapse. My legs are jelly.”

Laughing as he does it, he stands up and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you against him as tightly as he can.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Better than ever.”

He rests his lips on your forehead, both of you breathing each other in for a moment.

“Can’t believe you were right across the hallway from me, trying to be quiet while you were getting yourself off,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your back. “You should have come over here. I would have helped you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, cupping his face in your hands. “I was still acting like I didn’t wanna rip your clothes off back then.”

“Knew you’d crack eventually,” he winks, grinning when you laugh.

You pull him into you for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, clearly telling him exactly what you want.

“You gonna fuck me, Evan? Or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

He shakes his head with a smirk before throwing you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce back off. As he starts to crawl over to you, you stop him with a foot on his chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re wearing too many clothes. Strip, Buckley.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s standing up immediately, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off in one fell swoop. His boxers are next, leaving him stood bare and beautiful in front of you.

“Fuck. You’re not real,” you breathe out, eyes dancing over him.

“Oh I am so real,” he’s reassuring, situating himself on top of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you can grind your hips into his.

“I’ve been waiting two days for this,” you murmur into his lips. “Make it worth my while, please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he teases, kissing you again with such a force that you’re dizzy.

Buck sucks a bruise into your collarbone, licking a stripe up your sternum and tasting the salt that sits on your skin. Your patience is wearing thinner and thinner, anticipation bubbling up in your veins.

“How’d you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“Just- deep. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

He groans, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Anything you want, gorgeous. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything in the world.”

His lust drunk rambling makes you giggle, wiggling your hips into his to hopefully hurry him up. You tug at his hair, pulling his face so it’s level with yours.

“Now, Evan. Can’t wait any longer. Please.”

“Fuck. You’re so pretty when you beg.”

He lines himself up, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you connect. He’s big and he’s stretching you out just right and you think you might have died and gone to heaven. You both groan, panting into each others mouths.

“Fuck, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

The baby sends warmth running through both your core and your heart, all the signals setting your nervous system on fire.

“Please,” you whimper, kissing him with desperation as you tangle your fingers in his curls and pull. “Please, Evan.”

“I’ve got you,” he’s mumbling, pulling his hips back and sliding them forwards with clear intent.

Reaching up beside your head, Buck pulls a pillow down and situates it under your hips, putting you where he wants you.

“Want you to feel me as deep as possible,” he murmurs, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. “Won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You can only moan at the promise, praying he delivers. There’s a shiny sheen of sweat covering his sun kissed skin, making him glow in the moonlight like some sort of angel. Sent just for you.

Buck sets a steady rhythm, not too fast but just fast enough. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and you ignore the pang of jealousy in your chest at the idea of him with another woman, even in the past.

Now that you’ve had a taste of this, you don’t want to let it go.

He’s pressing kisses onto whatever skin he can reach - your neck, your collarbone, underneath your ear. His hips never cease, determined to get you both to where you need to be. When he hitches one of your legs over his waist, you can’t help but drop your head back, eyes fluttering shut at the new angle.

He tilts his hips upwards, and hits a spot that has you keening. Speech has left you, and all you can do now is take it like you were made for it.

“Right there? Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod frantically, sucking in a shuddering breath like you’ve been under water. Your legs have started to shake, and Buck’s grinning when he thinks about how far he can push you before you’re at your limit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

You’re so close you can taste it, desperate to find this release that’s been building for the last forty eight hours. When Buck moves his hand from your hip to your throat and squeezes just slightly, you snap.

You’re coming with a breathless moan, back arching into him to plaster your fronts together.

“Shit, you look so beautiful when you come. Jesus.”

You manage a soft smile, looking up at him to see those bright eyes staring into yours. He looks entranced, as if he’s staring at a piece in an art gallery. You swipe his hair back from his sweaty forehead, teasing your thumb across his bottom lip. When he sucks it into his mouth, your jaw drops open, mind foggy with arousal.

“Think you can give me another one? Let me see you come all pretty again?” he asks around your digit, tongue laving over your skin.

“Mhmm,” you’re agreeing before you can even process it, eager to please.

“That’s my girl.”

He moves your fingers from his mouth back into his hair as his find your throat once more, applying a little pressure. His hips pick up their pace, faster and harder than before. He’s fucking you into the mattress, strong arms keeping you from sliding off the bed.

He looks breathtaking, on top of you like this. He’s so broad, towering over you like he’ll shield you from the entire world if he has to. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the whole universe, unbothered by anything or anyone else.

“Buck- I… I-”

“I know, baby. Can feel it. Atta girl.”

You pull him down to kiss you as you reach your third climax of the night, arms wrapping around his neck so every inch of you is pressed together.

“There we go, good girl. That’s it, yeah. It’s yours, baby. It’s all yours.”

Buck finally finds his release, triggered by yours. His head drops into your neck, his frantic breath tickling your skin. You murmur sweet nothings into his ear, talking him through it as he shudders and shakes. Eventually, he collapses completely onto you, body weight pinning you down.

You’re both heaving for air, lungs burning as you try to regain an ounce of composure.

He murmurs something into your shoulder, the vibrations of it rumbling through your bones.

“Hmm?”

“You called me Buck.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, silvery and melodic.

“I’ve been trying not to for two days.”

“I know. You thought you were making a point.”

“I was making a point.”

“Sure, honey. Sure.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face. “I also hate that we’ve just made Lucy and Danny the happiest people ever.”

“Oh, shit. I hate it when they’re right.”

He pulls his head from your neck to look at you, resting his cheek against your chest so he can gaze up and into your eyes.

“I’m sure we can keep this a secret for a little while.”

“Yeah… we can’t.”

You quirk your brow at him in a silent question.

“I told Danny I was gonna marry you the minute you walked into the rehearsal dinner in that red dress. Can’t hide how I feel about you, gorgeous. It’s physically impossible.”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp.

“Take me on a date first. Then we’ll talk about marriage, okay?”

“You did say forever, earlier.”

“That I did. Maybe my heart knew something my brain didn’t.”

Buck grins up at you, all blinding and giddy.

“The best man and the maid of honour, huh?”

“That old cliche,” you chuckle. “We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”

“You’ll be my last, gorgeous.”

“Real smooth, Buck. Real smooth.”

“Buck,” he whispers, half in amusement, half in awe.

He could get used to this. You both could.

as always, reblogs are like gold to writers. if you enjoyed this, please reblog!! it’s invaluable <3

@peachysink @jjamjamie @alipap3 @spookyysinsanity @sophiah2253 @annaaaaanguyenn

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

that old cliché.

you swore you’d never give in to the maid of honour and best man cliche. and then you met evan buckley.

evan buckley x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol. buck’s a filthy flirt.

word count - 6k

authors note - and so she returns!! thank you all so much for your loveliness on my post about my break - I appreciate it more than you know. this one was so much fun to write. i’ve not written any longer stuff for buck, but he’s a character I feel that I have a really good understanding of - I actually think we’re very alike - so this came so easy. hope you love it as much as I do. <3

masterlist. inbox.

Silvery melodies of laughter clink off the rim of the champagne flute you hold in your freshly manicured hand. As the gentle breeze whips through the material of your dress, you look around you, realising you’ve never seen so many people so happy at once.

The backyard of the Italian villa is packed, dozens of guests milling around - dancing, drinking, chatting and catching up. Family, friends, colleagues; people from every phase of the bride and grooms life, all celebrating together in one place.

A rocks glass is placed down onto the table in front of you with a thud. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of the best man towering over you expectantly with a drink in his hand.

“Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

You scoff, staring up at him through your lashes.

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yeah. But why?”

“It’s whiskey. I watched you grimace every time you had to drink the champagne, so I thought you’d want something different.”

You swirl the glass, listening to the tinkle of the ice against the sides.

“You were watching me, huh?”

“Of course I was. Can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

“Shut up,” you chide, fighting to keep the grin off your face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“The whole best man and maid of honour thing. It’s just too cliched.”

He laughs all hearty and genuine, and you poignantly ignore the way the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Evan.”

“Oh, you will be,” he winks, knocking his glass against yours in a quick cheers before walking off to the find the groom.

You watch him go, not completely oblivious to the way his suit fits him just right. Determined to stand your ground, you inhale a deep breath before taking a sip of your drink. The drink that definitely isn’t exactly what you needed. The drink that he’d practically read your mind to figure out. Effortlessly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s been like this all day.

You met Evan Buckley for the first time last night, at the rehearsal dinner. The bride, your best friend in the world, kept telling you that you’d love the best man.

“He’s from California,” she’d said. “He’s Danny’s friend from when they were kids. He’s a firefighter, babe. He’s hot.”

You’d laughed it off, zipping up the back of her dress while she watched you in the mirror.

“Oh, come on. That’s so cliched. The whole maid of honour and best man thing is so old, Lucy.”

“You’re single, he’s single,” she’d protested. “It’d do you some good to get laid, relieve some stress. And people let their guards down at weddings. Now’s your chance.”

“If I wanted to get laid, I’d get laid,” you scoffed.

“All I’m saying is that Buck is completely your type. He’s gorgeous, he’s funny, he’s sweet. And you’re gonna have to spend a fair bit of time together tonight and tomorrow, so… just keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” you soothed, rolling your eyes. “Mind wide open. Alright?”

“You’re gonna love him.”

“You said that already.”

“Because I really believe it. You’re gonna love him.”

And the problem is… she was kind of right.

No, you don’t love him. You’ve known him for 48 hours. But… there’s something.

Lucy wasn’t lying. He is gorgeous, and funny, and sweet. And hot. So hot. He showed up to the rehearsal dinner in dress pants and a linen shirt, all sun kissed and muscled and tanned and stunning.

The two of you were seated next to each other, planned so carefully by the bride and groom. One minute you were making cautious introductions, shaking hands and smiling gently. The next minute you were crying with laughter, clutching at his bicep as he grabs your thigh, legs intertwined and chairs pulled together.

Lucy and Danny nudge each other occasionally, watching the both of you get along like two old friends that have known each other forever. A look passes between them that says I told you so clear as day.

But you’re stubborn. Too stubborn, some may say. You know you’ll never hear the end of it from your friends if you give into this very alluring temptation, and perhaps your pride means a bit more to you than it should. So you resist, you refuse to give in. Even if you really want to.

And that was just last night. Today has been even worse.

By worse, you mean the connection between you and Evan has grown even stronger. You walked down the aisle with him, arm linked with his, both dressed up to the nines. The maid of honour and the best man, a perfect picture.

You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other all day. Little touches - his fingers on the small of your back, your grip on his bicep, shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. Nothing crazy, but nothing meaningless, either. There’s an undeniable electricity buzzing between you, hot and alive.

You’re not sure how much longer you can deny it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re dancing with Lucy and her little nieces when you hear yelling and commotion coming from the other side of the dance floor. Looking over, you see Danny, Evan and other groomsmen flailing around and fussing.

“What happened?” Lucy’s yelling, making her way over with you in tow.

“Just a drink spillage, Luce! But it’s red wine, and now Buck’s shirt is pink.”

You look at the man in question and can’t help but laugh. His crisp white dress shirt is now a pretty shade of pink across the front, his cheeks a rosy colour to match.

“Stop laughing,” he chides, but he’s grinning at you as he says it. “I need to go and change. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase upstairs.”

He starts to leave, but soon turns around and calls your name.

“I don’t have a key for that big door at the end of the hallway to get to our rooms. Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. You want it?”

“Just come with me. It’ll be easier.”

Before you can argue, he’s taken off, big strides across the garden. You have to practically run in your heels to keep up with him, shaking your head in frustration.

“I could have just given you this,” you say when you reach the door, unlocking it for him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The smirk he gives you is so cheeky, it’s a wonder you don’t smack it off his face. Cocky bastard.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, walking with purpose to his room.

“Come in with me? It’ll only take a minute, then we can walk back together.”

You know you should say no, tell him that you’ll meet him downstairs. But you don’t. Instead, you say,

“Fine. But hurry up. I don’t wanna miss the party.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes, unlocking the door to his room that’s conveniently directly across from yours.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid watching him undress. He shrugs off his now pink shirt, taking it with him into the bathroom.

You’re surprised at how tidy everything is. Not that you think Evan would be particularly messy, but he doesn’t strike you as a neat and clean type. His suitcase is unpacked into the closet, bed made, nothing on the floor. It only makes you like him more.

“Can you grab my other shirt from the closet please, gorgeous? The one I wore last night for the rehearsal dinner.”

You swing the two doors open and rifle around, failing to see the linen button up that he’s looking for. Suddenly, you feel a warmth behind you, Buck’s solid form caging you in. He reaches around you, arm brushing yours as he finds what he needs.

“Found it,” he murmurs into your ear, all low and honeyed.

Against your better judgment, you turn around, finding yourself face to face with him. He towers over you, watching your reactions carefully. Your hands reach out and rest on his bare chest, steadying yourself before you either fall over or pass out.

Buck gently traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes completely locked on yours. You have to resist every urge to either bite it or suck it into your mouth, reminding yourself that now isn’t the time. The noise from the garden floats up and through the window that’s cracked open slightly, tethering you to the reality that is slowly fading away the longer you hold Evan’s gaze.

He leans in, and to your surprise, doesn’t kiss you immediately. Pressing his forehead to yours, he inhales deeply, as if committing the moment to memory. His thumbs are now tracing gentle circles on your jaw, soft and callous at the same time. You inhale slowly, processing the scent of his cologne mixed with the evening breeze. If you could bottle it up, you think, you’d be a millionaire. This would cure everything.

Buck finally closes down the gap between you, inching towards your lips softly. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to finally kiss you - when there’s deafening knocking on the door. The two of you jump apart, hearts pounding and nerves on a live wire.

Evan strides over to the source of the noise, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself as he goes. You perch on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Buck? Dude, it’s Jake. Hurry up, yeah? The guys wanna do our dance routine before everyone gets too drunk to remember it.”

He doesn’t bother opening the door, just yells back through the wood.

“Yeah, sure - I’ll be down in a minute!”

You hear Jake’s footsteps retreat, both of you exhaling the breaths you didn’t know you’d been holding. Buck looks at you, worried that the moment’s been ruined, to find you stifling a laugh behind your hand.

“There’s a dance routine?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “We created it years ago. The guys won’t let it die.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

You’re cackling, reclining onto the duvet as you laugh.

“Stop,” he groans, jumping over to flop onto his back on the bed next to you. “I did a lot of regrettable things in college… and that routine is definitely the worst of it.”

“I hope you know that you’re never going to live this down, Buckley. I’ll be reminding you of this forever.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. “You really like me, huh?”

“What the hell gave you that impression?”

“You said forever. What’s next, honey? You gonna get down on one knee later?”

You’re suddenly aware of the warmth of the whiskey flowing through your veins, giving you a liquid confidence that stuns both you and the man lying next to you.

“Two knees, maybe. But not one.”

His eyes go wide as you smirk, pulling yourself off the bed and making your way over to the door. Buck watches you carefully, gaze steady and firm.

“You coming? I’m more than ready to see those moves of yours.”

He stands up, slipping on his shoes and shrugging the clean shirt onto his broad shoulders. You grab your purse, leaning against the doorframe as you wait.

Evan reaches past you for the door handle, nose purposely brushing yours as he does it.

“I’ll hold you to what you said before,” he murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from your face softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

You look up at him with big doe eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Sure, Evan,” you reply lowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Breaking away from him, you swing the door open, strutting down the hallway without looking back. Your confidence has sky rocketed, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do. You walk back out to the garden and take your earlier seat, ready for the show you’ve been promised.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dance routine is spectacular.

It’s cheesy and hilarious and very early 2000s inspired - it’s almost like watching a music video from a boy band you loved when you were a teenager. It should embarrass you, turn you off majorly, but… it doesn’t. It only does the opposite.

Everything Buck does makes you like him more.

You spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and floating on cloud nine. In a garden in Italy, surrounded by your best friends - you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

As the evening dwindles to an end, everyone slowly begins making their way back to their rooms within the villa. You sit down, unbuckling your heels to finally give your feet a rest. It almost feels like deja vu when a rocks glass is placed down in front of you on the table.

“Hi, Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yes, but why?”

He pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down, looking at you intently.

“Thought we could have a nightcap before we go upstairs.”

You look around to find that mostly everyone has decided to call it a day. You can see Lucy and Danny walking off hand in hand, going for a stroll around the grounds before they let the wedding officially be over. It just leaves you and Buck, sat in your original places.

“Is this Baileys?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you like it? I figured you probably wouldn’t want another whiskey, seeing as you’ve had so many.”

You scoff, trying to fight the grin that threatens to take over your face.

“I’ve had, like, four, thank you very much.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“Cheers, Evan,” you toast, clinking your glass against his matching one. “We did it. A wedding without a hitch. Mostly.”

“My shirt will never be white again, but besides that, we did a pretty good job.”

“We make a good team.”

He looks slightly taken aback by your honesty, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yes, we do. A super hot, super funny team.”

“A super hot, super funny team.”

You both laugh, heads thrown back with no cares in the world. Buck shuffles his chair forward so his legs are slotted on either side of you, warm skin radiating into yours. The moonlight is glinting off of his cheekbones, illuminating the light streaks in his hair. You’re a little tipsy and much too tired to fully fight your feelings anymore.

He’s beautiful, and you’re sick of denying it.

The two of you finish off your drinks, sat in a comfortable silence beneath the starry night sky. His hand has found its way onto your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle patterns into your bare skin. You’re sneaking glances at him when he looks away, admiring the way he’s glowing, buzzed off of the alcohol and the excitement of the day. He’s doing the same with you, soft smile etched onto his face as he watches you gaze up at the stars above your heads.

A yawn escapes you, making both of you chuckle.

“I’ll walk you to your room?”

“Well, you better. I’m the only one of us with a key for that big door.”

He laughs even harder, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. If you weren’t here, I’d have slept on the floor in the hallway or something.”

“Probably wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, standing up and tucking your chair under the table.

“Sorry, what was that? Say it again? Hmm? Hmm?” he wraps his arms around your middle, spinning you so your feet are no longer on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up,” you shriek, giggling like a teenager.

He places you back down, hands on your hips to steady you. You look up at him, keeping your eyes fixed on his to steady yourself from the dizziness. When you feel ready to go, you clear your throat, willing yourself to walk away before you kiss him stupid.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Separate beds,” you tell him sternly, chuckling when he cackles.

“Yes ma’am.”

Buck walks you back to your room in a gentlemanly fashion, looping your arm through his to keep you both upright. When you reach your door, your fingers linger on the handle, as if you’re not quite ready to go inside just yet.

Reaching out gently, he moves a strand of hair from your face, fingertips brushing your cheekbone as he does it. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sweet contact.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmurs lowly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

He takes a step back towards his door when you speak again.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything, today. You’ve been a damn good best man.”

“Well, thank you. For being the best maid of honour.”

You nod, smiling like an idiot as you unlock your door and shut it behind you. You take a deep breath when you’re finally inside, throwing down your heels onto the floor and your purse onto the side table. Reaching behind you, your fingers tug at the zipper on your dress, attempting to pull it down.

It’s only now you realise your dilemma. The zipper is on an awkward place on your back, right where you can’t get to. You think quickly back to this morning - one of the bridesmaids doing the dress up for you, pulling the material taut as she fastened it. You’re not going to be able to get this off yourself.

Finding the purse that you discarded minutes earlier, you aim to find a hair clip. If you can loop a bobby pin into the zipper, you think, you might be able to pull it yourself. You root around in it for a second, before pulling out two phones.

Well, fuck.

You’d completely forgotten that Evan had given it to you earlier in the evening, worried that it was going to get broken if it stayed in his back pocket. You’d tucked it away and not thought about it again.

Until now.

Now, you’re realising that you’re going to have to go and give it back. He probably hasn’t remembered that you have it, otherwise you’re sure he’d be knocking on the door or yelling across the hallway.

You stand in the middle of your room, with two phones and a stuck zipper, wondering if the universe thinks this is funny.

You’re certainly not laughing.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Evan?”

He swings the door open, facing you in his suit trousers with no shirt on.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I have your phone.”

Holding it out to him, his fingertips brush yours as he takes it from you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about this. Thanks, pretty.”

“Of course.”

You stand and look at each other for a second, so much left unsaid.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

His instantly willingness has butterflies fluttering in your stomach, flitting and lightweight and undeniable.

“Can you help me get my dress off?”

When he smirks and goes to speak, you cut him off quickly.

“The zipper is stuck, Evan. Alice zipped me up this morning and I can’t undo it by myself.”

“This is a very long winded way of asking me to get you naked, gorgeous.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“If that’s what I wanted, I would just ask you, Buckley.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Can you help me or not?”

He’s laughing, now, head thrown back with it. You hate the way it makes your heart sing.

“You coming in? Or you want me to undress you in the hallway?”

“You’re not undressing- fuck, you’re annoying.”

He’s still chuckling when he ushers you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you both.

“How do you wanna do this? Lights on, lights off? Curtains open or shut? Music? Candles?”

“Undo the damn zipper before I smack you.”

His laughter is rumbling through his chest, contagious in its nature. You want to be angry at him, but you just can’t seem to find it in you.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You spin to face the door, taking a deep breath as you anticipate his touch. You feel his warmth behind you, fingertips dancing over the skin of your shoulders before they reach your zipper. You can’t see him, but you can envisage the sight - his broad chest, thick neck, that beautiful sun kissed glow he’s developed over the past few days. Your lungs heave as the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

Buck slides the zipper down your back slowly, with intent and clarity. When it reaches your coccyx, he stops, resting his other hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You know you should step away, maybe throw him a quick thanks as you leave. But you do believe in fate, whether you like to admit it or not - and this entire night has felt like it’s been written in the stars.

Who are you to deny what the universe is so clearly gifting you?

You let your arms relax, sighing as the dress falls off of you and down to the floor. You step out of it, finally turning around to face Buck wearing nothing but your lacy white underwear. Surprisingly, there’s not an ounce of self consciousness in your body. The only thing you feel is desire.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Evan is completely speechless. His eyes rove over you, drinking in the sight in front of him, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in awe, fingers itching to reach out and touch you. “The minute I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me, please.”

He grins, surging forward to cup your cheek with one hand while the other finds its home on your waist.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

“Finally.”

Buck leans in and presses his lips to yours surprisingly gently, testing the waters. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He gets the message, reeling you in and deepening the kiss until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

You’re being walked backwards and into the wall, pushed up against it for leverage. You hike a leg up over Bucks hip, groaning when the two of you grind forwards at the same time. His hands are everywhere - your face, tits, ass, waist - anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s not quite sure where he wants them, as if he’s worried he’ll leave somewhere untouched.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he’s muttering into your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin. “Driving me crazy.”

“I got myself off last night,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he sucks at the spot under your ear. “Thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” he moans, sinking down to his knees in front of you. “Tell me more. Please.”

It’s almost biblical, the sight of him. On his knees, practically begging, looking up at you like you’re his saviour. You’re dizzy with the power, blood rushing straight to your head.

Buck presses kisses into your leg, starting at your calves and moving up. When he gets to your inner thigh, he gazes up at you, pleading with his eyes for you to continue.

“Tell me more or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down and off.

“Okay, okay,” you pant, dropping your head back against the wall. “I, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about your arms in that shirt. The, the, the-”

You’re stuttering as he licks a stripe up your core, diving in with no hesitation. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard you know it’ll bruise, and you can’t wait to feel the imprints in the morning.

“The?”

He’s pulled away to look at you with his brow quirked, dirty smirk etched across his face.

“Keep going, gorgeous. You haven’t even got to the good part. Neither of us have.”

You scoff at him in defiance, but slide your fingers into his hair to tug him back to where you want him.

“You looked so strong,” you continue, sighing when his tongue finds your core again. “Kept thinking about how easily you could throw me around. Pick me up, sit me on your face…”

Buck groans, all deep and rumbled, and the vibrations have your legs going weak. He doubles down on his efforts, slipping his tongue inside as his nose nudges your clit. He’s a fast learner, taking mental note of the spots and pressures that make your knees buckle.

“Keep going,” he mumbles into your core.

“You keep going,” you retort, pulling at his hair.

He chuckles but obliges your request, sucking your clit into his mouth with purpose. You’re shaking, holding onto him for dear life as you reach your climax. The moan you let out is borderline pornographic, and it has Buck palming himself over his suit trousers with a groan.

“Fuck, Evan,” you pant, chest heaving as you slump into the wall. “You need to grab me before I collapse. My legs are jelly.”

Laughing as he does it, he stands up and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you against him as tightly as he can.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Better than ever.”

He rests his lips on your forehead, both of you breathing each other in for a moment.

“Can’t believe you were right across the hallway from me, trying to be quiet while you were getting yourself off,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your back. “You should have come over here. I would have helped you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, cupping his face in your hands. “I was still acting like I didn’t wanna rip your clothes off back then.”

“Knew you’d crack eventually,” he winks, grinning when you laugh.

You pull him into you for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, clearly telling him exactly what you want.

“You gonna fuck me, Evan? Or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

He shakes his head with a smirk before throwing you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce back off. As he starts to crawl over to you, you stop him with a foot on his chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re wearing too many clothes. Strip, Buckley.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s standing up immediately, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off in one fell swoop. His boxers are next, leaving him stood bare and beautiful in front of you.

“Fuck. You’re not real,” you breathe out, eyes dancing over him.

“Oh I am so real,” he’s reassuring, situating himself on top of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you can grind your hips into his.

“I’ve been waiting two days for this,” you murmur into his lips. “Make it worth my while, please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he teases, kissing you again with such a force that you’re dizzy.

Buck sucks a bruise into your collarbone, licking a stripe up your sternum and tasting the salt that sits on your skin. Your patience is wearing thinner and thinner, anticipation bubbling up in your veins.

“How’d you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“Just- deep. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

He groans, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Anything you want, gorgeous. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything in the world.”

His lust drunk rambling makes you giggle, wiggling your hips into his to hopefully hurry him up. You tug at his hair, pulling his face so it’s level with yours.

“Now, Evan. Can’t wait any longer. Please.”

“Fuck. You’re so pretty when you beg.”

He lines himself up, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you connect. He’s big and he’s stretching you out just right and you think you might have died and gone to heaven. You both groan, panting into each others mouths.

“Fuck, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

The baby sends warmth running through both your core and your heart, all the signals setting your nervous system on fire.

“Please,” you whimper, kissing him with desperation as you tangle your fingers in his curls and pull. “Please, Evan.”

“I’ve got you,” he’s mumbling, pulling his hips back and sliding them forwards with clear intent.

Reaching up beside your head, Buck pulls a pillow down and situates it under your hips, putting you where he wants you.

“Want you to feel me as deep as possible,” he murmurs, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. “Won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You can only moan at the promise, praying he delivers. There’s a shiny sheen of sweat covering his sun kissed skin, making him glow in the moonlight like some sort of angel. Sent just for you.

Buck sets a steady rhythm, not too fast but just fast enough. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and you ignore the pang of jealousy in your chest at the idea of him with another woman, even in the past.

Now that you’ve had a taste of this, you don’t want to let it go.

He’s pressing kisses onto whatever skin he can reach - your neck, your collarbone, underneath your ear. His hips never cease, determined to get you both to where you need to be. When he hitches one of your legs over his waist, you can’t help but drop your head back, eyes fluttering shut at the new angle.

He tilts his hips upwards, and hits a spot that has you keening. Speech has left you, and all you can do now is take it like you were made for it.

“Right there? Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod frantically, sucking in a shuddering breath like you’ve been under water. Your legs have started to shake, and Buck’s grinning when he thinks about how far he can push you before you’re at your limit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

You’re so close you can taste it, desperate to find this release that’s been building for the last forty eight hours. When Buck moves his hand from your hip to your throat and squeezes just slightly, you snap.

You’re coming with a breathless moan, back arching into him to plaster your fronts together.

“Shit, you look so beautiful when you come. Jesus.”

You manage a soft smile, looking up at him to see those bright eyes staring into yours. He looks entranced, as if he’s staring at a piece in an art gallery. You swipe his hair back from his sweaty forehead, teasing your thumb across his bottom lip. When he sucks it into his mouth, your jaw drops open, mind foggy with arousal.

“Think you can give me another one? Let me see you come all pretty again?” he asks around your digit, tongue laving over your skin.

“Mhmm,” you’re agreeing before you can even process it, eager to please.

“That’s my girl.”

He moves your fingers from his mouth back into his hair as his find your throat once more, applying a little pressure. His hips pick up their pace, faster and harder than before. He’s fucking you into the mattress, strong arms keeping you from sliding off the bed.

He looks breathtaking, on top of you like this. He’s so broad, towering over you like he’ll shield you from the entire world if he has to. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the whole universe, unbothered by anything or anyone else.

“Buck- I… I-”

“I know, baby. Can feel it. Atta girl.”

You pull him down to kiss you as you reach your third climax of the night, arms wrapping around his neck so every inch of you is pressed together.

“There we go, good girl. That’s it, yeah. It’s yours, baby. It’s all yours.”

Buck finally finds his release, triggered by yours. His head drops into your neck, his frantic breath tickling your skin. You murmur sweet nothings into his ear, talking him through it as he shudders and shakes. Eventually, he collapses completely onto you, body weight pinning you down.

You’re both heaving for air, lungs burning as you try to regain an ounce of composure.

He murmurs something into your shoulder, the vibrations of it rumbling through your bones.

“Hmm?”

“You called me Buck.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, silvery and melodic.

“I’ve been trying not to for two days.”

“I know. You thought you were making a point.”

“I was making a point.”

“Sure, honey. Sure.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face. “I also hate that we’ve just made Lucy and Danny the happiest people ever.”

“Oh, shit. I hate it when they’re right.”

He pulls his head from your neck to look at you, resting his cheek against your chest so he can gaze up and into your eyes.

“I’m sure we can keep this a secret for a little while.”

“Yeah… we can’t.”

You quirk your brow at him in a silent question.

“I told Danny I was gonna marry you the minute you walked into the rehearsal dinner in that red dress. Can’t hide how I feel about you, gorgeous. It’s physically impossible.”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp.

“Take me on a date first. Then we’ll talk about marriage, okay?”

“You did say forever, earlier.”

“That I did. Maybe my heart knew something my brain didn’t.”

Buck grins up at you, all blinding and giddy.

“The best man and the maid of honour, huh?”

“That old cliche,” you chuckle. “We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”

“You’ll be my last, gorgeous.”

“Real smooth, Buck. Real smooth.”

“Buck,” he whispers, half in amusement, half in awe.

He could get used to this. You both could.

as always, reblogs are like gold to writers. if you enjoyed this, please reblog!! it’s invaluable <3

@peachysink @jjamjamie @alipap3 @spookyysinsanity @sophiah2253 @annaaaaanguyenn

[forevergoldenskies]

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 — LH44

lewis hamilton x black!designer reader

summary: no one expected lewis to date someone younger, let alone more successful than him. but it was no surprise to the fans he found someone who knew fashion. making you and lewis the most stylish couple in and out of the paddock

social media

( warning: age gap of 10 years, suggestive language, i got a little lazy with the comments towards the end i’m sorry :(

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: World famous fashion designer and CEO of SolureCouture, is in the paddock today! welcome Y/N to the F1 world

———————————————————————————

user: this is a bit much for a race no?

^user: she’s a famous designer, girl get a grip no

^user: yeah this is actually considered casual for her

user: oh she’s putting the other wags and drivers to literal SHAMBLES

user: served, chewed, ate, plate licked, no crumbs

user: first race and out dresses everybody

^user: out dressed everyone in history

user: why is she there

^user either pr or she has a show there soon

^user orrrr maybe she’s genuinely interested

user: she might be dating a driver?

^user: no one is worthy of this

user: hmmm this is how it always starts out

𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

lewishamilton: My loves new collection Adatrix now completed. it’s been an honor to work beside the woman I love and to see behind the scenes of her beautiful work.

she the absolutely most talented, dedicated hardworking person I know and to see her consistently meeting her goal and raising the bar for herself is such an incredible thing to witness. she is such in inspiration and she cares so much about the fashion industry, I owe my latest looks and wisdom to this goddess.

———————————————————————————

user: WOAH? HES DATING THE Y/N

user: lewis i was not familiar with your game

^user: hmmmm i feel like you should be. this is not shocking he’s dating a designer

user: the fashion industry just won today like actually

user: oh i just know the magazines will be fighting over them

user: i just threw my phone i’m actually shaking

user: OF COURSE IT WOULD BE HER

^user: if anyoneee is going to date her, lewis is genuinely the perfect person

user: yall keep it cute now

user: anyone being disrespectful WILL be reported

^user: me too because i don’t play

user: AWWWW he finally has someone

^user: she better not break this man’s heart because I swear. he needs a good relationship

^user: only thing you have to worry about her breaking is fashion standards and these people’s necks

^user: TRUEST THING I’VE HEARD ALL DAY

yourusername: my favorite mannequin of all time <3

lewishamilton: honored to have that title

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: Lewis hamilton and his newly announced girlfriend y/n today at the 2025 Miami Grand Prix. The pair are wearing custom coordinated outfits designed and made by y/n herself, source is from Lewis

———————————————————————————

user: haters are throwing up right now

user: outing myself right now but i was so mad hes dating someone but she actually pulled through

^user: now why would you even admit that

^user: oh girl they’re coming for you

user: unmatched aura

user: serving this hard already, oh she’s ready

user: THE MIRRORS?? HOLY

user: her matching him is making me melt

user: hard launch final boss

user: yayyyy a new couple to obsess over

^user: if you’re a new fan of y/n prepare to see looks like this every single race

^user: might as well glue the jaw shut now too

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

yourusername: now presenting the Adatrix 2026 collection for SolureCouture

thank you to everyone for supporting my art and for being the vision. my designs tell the stories of the ones who made this possible, you the fans. the goal is for everyone to see themselves at the top, and feel the success building within them everyday

the sky is the limit, become the new trend by today

——————————————————————————

user: i’ve seen enough, make her a co chair in the MET

^user: THAT WOULD BE SO GOOD

^user: ohh girl i like the way you’re thinking….

user: adatrix is such a cool name

user: the concept of her whole brand is actually groundbreaking

user: i’m crying so hard at the caption

user: hi, i’ve recently just started following you and your work, who makes your designs, genuinely asking?

^yourusername: hi my love, all pieces are made directly by hand and i make around 60% of the clothing myself. i like to think i can do it all but unfortunately i need to eat and sleep :( so I do have an amazing team of 6 incredibly hard working people who handmake the rest of the pieces that i’m not able to!

alexandrasaintmleux: you are such a visionary

eglehulkenburg: your growth is unreal, congrats angel

lilymhe: you are absolutely a talent to watch

^yourusername: thank you. it means the world to me for your support, custom fits for all coming soon!

user: we need more designers like you

user: this collection is true fashion

carmenmundt: ugh my darling i hope you know how unique you truly are. one of a kind

lilyzneimer: what a beautifully done collection!

flavybarla: you’re unstoppable

^yourusername: omg you all are too sweet. thank you for welcoming me with open arms and for your support

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: Lewis and Y/N’s custom outfits from today’s race at Silverstone, once again made by Y/N

———————————————————————————

user: I’M OBSESSEDDDD

user: not me giggling at my phone cuz their so hot

user: face cards never decline

^user: heavy on the neverrrr

user: icons doing and wearing iconic things

user: THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR ME

user: this is why designers deserve their flowers NOW

user: she made this from scratch btw

^user: hard to tell who outfit I’m more impressed by

user: lewis give me your game card

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: custom fits once again for the couple at the Singapore Grand Prix today, this might be my favorite look of theirs so far

———————————————————————————

user: and THIS is why i pay that phone bill

user: fashion girlies are screaming

^user: it’s me, i’m fashion girlies

user: oh she stays employed

user: girly is forever working, when does she sleep

user: this is better than any race this season

^user: lowkey only look forward to race weekends to see the matching fits

user: i fear i will never be normal about them

user: she can truly make anything. any material on her looks absolutely exceptional

^user: did you know she actually buys from local businesses in the area she in for a race, which means she’s make their outfits in only 2-3 days

^user: WHAT? OMG I DID NOT KNOW THAT

^user: this makes me even more impressed with her

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: they love a good red moment. Lewis and y/n at the Vegas Grand Prix in custom SolureCouture

———————————————————————————

user: she understands the assignment for both of them every single time

user: they do rich the right way

user: SICK AND TWISTED ( in a good way )

user: ugh nobody is doing it like her

user: this is actually making me hot and bothered

user: paddock walk? more like runway walk

^user: I WANT YOU TO STRUT, STRUT!!!

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

yourusername: my turn outfitsoff1 abu dhabi 2025 💋

——————————————————————————

outfitsoff1: OUHH IM GAGGED

^yourusername: lewis and i love uuuu! <3

user: not a single bad outfit between them

^user: or angle

user: HOW is she real

user: not one miss from her this whole season

user yes, she made this one too. and the next one, and the next and the next!!

lewishamilton: i’m just lucky she lets me wear her art

^yourusername: you’re the inspiration my love <3

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐟𝟏

outfitsoff1: oh they did not come to play tonight, Lewis and Y/N at the FIA end of the year Gala. I think we know what brand they’re both wearing….!

———————————————————————————

user: the inverted matching outfits, IM SICKKK

user: not even posing and still ate

user: went there to serve cunt and leave

user: he may have had the worst year of his career this season but he won in every other aspect

user: she outdid herself with these

^user: best looks fr

user: THE SCREAM I JUST SCRUMPT

user: they look so so good i need to get a grip

user: oh so everyone else is just supposed to pack it up now huh

^user: yeah everybody go home for me now

𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

lewishamilton: now that the season is over i want to thank my everything for being with me this season

there’s been ups and down of my career but i’ve never lost sight of myself, because of her. her mission and impact is one i feel everyday and it brings me to tears even thinking about what she’s done for every community she’s been apart of yourusername

———————————————————————————

user: every time he posts her my standards get higher and higher

user: this relationship feel so balanced

^user: they are so in love and authentic as a couple

user: MY POWER COUPLEEE

user: i only believe in love because of them

𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

New York Times: History has been made as a new director of the Met Gala has just confirmed. After 40 years, the current director and woman who started it all, Anna Wintour, has officially retired her role. With Anna Wintour stepping down, luxury fashion designer of SolureCouture, Y/N L/N has been hand selected by Anna herself to be new director.

Y/N will be the second person to ever hold this title, and is the first black women, and youngest women to ever hold such position. She is now the head chair and her husband, Lewis Hamilton is to be a permanent co chair, with other co chairs switching every year

———————————————————————————

user: HUSBAND???

user: somewhere in the world someone just fell to their knees seeing the word husband

^user: i think we found that someone…

user: one step closer to y/n world domination

^user: inching forward everyday

user: THE WORLD IS HEALING

user: seeing her win makes me emotional omg

𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐞

NEWLYWEDS LEWIS AND Y/N HAMILTON EXCEED EXCELLENCE IN FASHION AND LOVE

January 2026 Issue

Y/N and Lewis Hamilton open up about their recent wedding in our first print of the new year. The couple are both known for their very expressive choices in clothing and are all about rewriting boundaries.

Lewis, 41 is a Formula One driver and has been in the sport professionally for over 18 years. His unique outfits at the time in F1 caused a whirlwind of criticism for breaking the boundaries back in 2015.

Y/N, 31, has been interested in fashion sinxe she was 8 years old and has been designing since she was 20. She’s quickly rose to the top of the industry with her distinctive and eccentric designs, becoming the most requested designer in demand. In 2020 she created her own fashion called SolureCouture.

The pair began dating in 2023 and announced their relationship earlier this year, and sealing it with rings in November 2025. Inside are more and exclusive details from the couple about their private wedding, what the future holds for them and what it means to be a black couple redefining the culture of expressive dressing, together.

——————————————————————————

𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Vogue: Y/N and Lewis Hamilton, January 2026 issue

Big congrats to the newlyweds and the new Head and Co chairs of the Met Gala.

——————————————————————————

user: why am i crying like i know them personally

user: she doesn’t miss. ever.

user: deserves of every bit of recognition

lawroach: you’ve come so far my sweetheart!

christiansirano: love working with you, so proud

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 + 𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

lewishamilton & yourusername: our first collection together, and it’s as husband and wife!!!

working on our 2026 Madella collection with lewis has been the best experience of my life. as you know i do all the designs myself and work hands on with making a majority of pieces by hand. my team is very small, but just got expanded to one more.

thank you lewis for becoming a permanent part of my brand and mission in rewriting what the word fashion means. we have both worked worked endlessly together to create this and he is so talented. get you a man who is so invested in your career he will learn how to sketch and sew!!

release is next week, love the hamiltons <3

——————————————————————————

[buckys-estrella]

Love Is A Battlefield

jake “hangman” seresin x aviator!reader (callsign: siren)

song inspo: love is a battlefield by pat benatar

masterlist

word count: 6.7k

summary: you hoped to never meet the human personification of a headache; even worse, you fell for him.

warnings: switching pov bc im a sucker for that, mentions of alcohol, some innuendos, moonknight reference, jake being into mean women (and they’re not so secretly in love with each other), your last name is morales bc why not, tbh this is kinda real messy, it took me three years to write, I don’t even know my own timeline anymore, I just got out the psych ward last week so let’s just say it’s a bunch of vignettes

SIREN:

Truth be told, you didn’t hate Hangman. You wish you did though.

You had heard of Jake and his reputation at Top Gun. He was in the graduating class the year before and you prayed that you’d be fortunate enough to never meet the man.

No such luck.

With everything you heard: how he was a prick with an ego higher than Everest, how he left his wingmen to fend for themselves, how he could get any woman with a cocky grin and a wink; you just knew that you’d hate him. And you tried your best, you really did. He had a way of getting under your skin, and he annoyed the hell out of you, but underneath it all, you actually liked him. Though you’d never give him the satisfaction of that knowledge.

Really, the worst thing about Jake was the flirting. He was persistent. From the day you met him, he’d been all over you. You dismissed it, of course, a man like Hangman flirted with anything with a heartbeat. The only way to deal with the dreadful feeling of your affection for him was to make it clear that you weren’t interested.

JAKE:

Jake started planning his wedding just mere moments upon meeting Siren. Which shocked him far more than anything else he’s ever experienced in his lifetime.

Of course, he’d heard of her before, though all he really knew was how she got her callsign.

And he saw it as a challenge.

Jake was sipping a beer at the Hard Deck, chatting with his buddies in the squadron when one of them brought up a new graduate from Top Gun:

Siren.

His ears perk up at the mention of her callsign. He's never heard of her before, but the way they were talking about her piqued his interest. Fritz goes on to say that they call her Siren because of the way she lures men to their demise. Sure, it was a compliment to her skills as a pilot, but it had a bitter double meaning since every pilot and navy man that ever made a move on her was swiftly rejected.

Jake internalizes this, and by the time he leaves the Hard Deck, he was determined to meet her and find out for himself what the fuss was all about.

As luck would have it, a couple of years later, she was transferred into his unit. There was a buzz of excitement the day of her arrival, and Jake took extra precautions to make sure that he made a good impression (Javy told him he overdid it on the cologne; Jake said there was no such thing as “over-doing it”).

The moment she walked in through the door, he felt his heart skip a beat. Siren were breathtaking, carrying herself with an air of confidence that made her oh-so captivating.

He was about to make a remark, try to get into Siren's good graces, but he didn’t miss the way her nose scrunched slightly when she passed him by, letting out a huff. It was then that he realized he probably should’ve listened to Javy.

Siren continued past him, shoulders squared back, head held high, until she reached the front of the briefing room and stood side by side the squadron leader as he introduced her to the rest of the group.

“Lieutenant Morales—callsign Siren—graduated Top Five of her Top Gun class,” Cyclone announced, pacing in front of the assembled pilots. “Highest marks in air combat maneuvering, exceptional tactical instincts, and one of the best reaction times we’ve ever recorded. She’s logged over eight hundred flight hours across Super Hornets and Growlers, and she led a two-ship during a live intercept last year that earned her a Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal.”

Jake blinked.

That alone would’ve impressed him. But the commander wasn’t done.

“She also completed an advanced electronic warfare course at Whidbey, cross-trained as a backup WSO, and received command commendation for a successful emergency recovery under low-visibility conditions.”

Phoenix let out a low whistle. Bob muttered, “Holy crap.”

Jake’s interest—a spark when he first heard her callsign at the Hard Deck—now roared into a fire.

But the squad leader continued.

“And finally,” he said, turning slightly toward her, “Siren is known for her discipline. She does not tolerate nonsense, does not indulge distractions, and maintains a professional record clean enough to frame. I expect you to treat her with the same respect she’s earned. Lord knows she has earned mine.” He ends with a curt nod in Siren’s direction, an air of admiration hanging between the two.

“Thank you, Admiral,” She returned his nod before turning to face the squad, “I look forward to serving with all of you.” She added, looking across the room with a barely perceptible twitch as her gaze crossed over Hangman.

Siren took her seat beside whom Jake can only assume is her WSO.

By the time the briefing wrapped, he wasn’t just intrigued. He was captivated.

SIREN:

As the briefing ended, you barely had time to blink before your assigned WSO turned to face you and introduce himself.

“Lieutenant Marc Spector —Callsign Oracle,” The dark curled man extended his hand out to yours, “It’s an honor to be flying with you.”

You took his hand in yours, grip firm, “Oracle,” you paused for a moment, the gears turning and clicking, “You were at the academy a few years before me, right? You’re a legend in the WSO world, your accuracy rating is unbeatable, the honor’s all mine.” You can’t help but beam at him, your hard-shell cracking in show of your admiration.

He flushes slightly under your praise, withdrawing his hand from yours and your eyes don’t miss the silver band that flashes under the fluorescent lights.

Married, noted. Too bad, he’s handsome. You think to yourself, shunning any thoughts you had earlier in respect of his spouse.

“Well shoot, thanks. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve always been a sharpshooter.” He jokes with you as he gathers his things, prompting you to do the same.

A laugh bubble up from your chest, your eyes shining, enjoying the company of your WSO and knowing it’ll be the start of a great partnership.

The moment is quickly soured by that overpowering cologne you had the misfortune of passing by earlier. Your eyes shoot up, noticing that tall blonde with an immovable smirk. He looks like he came straight out of a Cowboys Monthly catalogue instead of the Naval Academy.

“Hey darlin’”, you hear a southern drawl in his voice, “name’s Hangman, best pilot ‘round these parts, even better than you believe it or not.” His smirk widens at his words, toothpick shifting to the other side of his mouth.

You shoot a sideways glance to Oracle, not believing what you’re hearing. He gives you a look that says that this is just the type of man he is. An arrogant jaggoff that just spews whatever nonsense falls off the top of his dome.

“Listen here Old Spice,” Your shell coming back up, gaze hard on his as you notice a slight twitch on his lips, “I’m not here to compete, I’m not here to prove anything to you, and I’m not here to entertain you. We have a duty, and I’m here to perform. You got a different agenda? Then stay out of my way.” Your words are punctuated as you move past him, adding a slight shove to his shoulder as you continue on your way, hearing a low whistle behind you, a holler in the distance from the man that you know is gonna get under your skin.

JAKE:

Jake Seresin wasn’t the kind of man who got caught off guard. Not in the air. Not in the briefing room. And definitely not in Penny Benjamin’s bar, where he practically had home-field advantage.

But then Siren walked in.

Hair down. Sundress swaying just above her knees, catching the warm San Diego breeze. Heels clicking on the old wooden floor.

He actually felt his heartbeat stutter.

Everyone else noticed too—Rooster’s pool cue paused mid-shot, Phoenix mouthed “oh boy,” and even Fanboy straightened like he’d just witnessed a civilian celebrity appearance. Siren, of course, didn’t seem to notice the ripple she sent through the room. She was taking everything in with a careful, assessing gaze, Oracle at her side like the world’s smuggest bodyguard.

Jake swallowed hard, pushing off the bar and trying to look normal. Casual. Not like his entire brain had short-circuited because apparently Siren owned silk-smooth waves and a little smirk that felt like a gut punch.

Finally letting her hair down, he thought. Maybe now she’ll give me a chance.

She caught him staring. Her brows lifted.

…And she promptly looked away.

Fantastic. Off to a great start.

Phoenix sauntered by, clapping his shoulder. “Don’t drool, Bagman. It’s embarrassing for everyone.”

“Didn’t say a damn word,” Jake muttered. “Just being friendly.”

“Yeah, friendly. That’s what we’re calling it now.” She smirked. “Try not to scare her off.”

“Oh, I’ll charm her,” Jake said confidently.

“Someday you’ll go far," Phoenix snorted, "and I really hope you stay there.”

Jake muttered something impolite and made his way toward Siren.

She stood by the jukebox, pretending to read the song list but very clearly avoiding him. Oracle noticed Jake approaching and sighed like a long-suffering parent.

“Please behave,” Oracle murmured.

“No promises,” Jake said, flashing his trademark grin.

Siren didn’t even pretend to be impressed.

“So,” Jake drawled, planting a hand against the wall beside her, “what’s Siren stand for anyway, hm? Is it because of how annoying you are? Everyone winces the second you open your mouth?”

Without hesitation, she fired back, “Y’know, Bagman, that’s a perfect explanation of you.”

Oracle tried (and failed) to hide his laugh.

Jake ignored him. “Cute.”

Turning to finally face him, she crossed her arms. “You think you’re hot stuff, huh?”

“Oh, I know I am, baby.”

Before he could double down, Phoenix reappeared with a beer, leaning against the jukebox beside Siren.

“C’mon, Jake, lay off her. I don’t want the only other woman in this unit requesting a transfer just because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“Oh dear God, has that actually happened before?” Siren gasped dramatically, hand on her chest.

Jake’s eyes flicked to her hand before he dragged them up again. …Bad idea. Very bad idea.

He threw up his hands. “I am capable of behaving around a lady.”

“Mhm, sure you are,” Phoenix said, looping her arm through Siren’s. “I just don’t think you can behave around this one.”

With that, she whisked Siren away to the pool table with Oracle, leaving Jake staring after her like a man watching the last lifeboat leave the Titanic.

He eventually retreated to darts with Javy, though his attention kept drifting back to the woman who had him so thoroughly, stupidly enamored.

Later, when the noise softened and the crowd shifted, Siren slipped past him toward the back patio. He followed...because he was a man with poor impulse control and even worse instincts where she was involved.

She caught him again, eyebrow raised. “What’s that look for?”

Jake shrugged, adjusting slightly. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous for you.”

He chuckled. God, she was quick. “You know, Siren, for someone who pretends to hate me, you sure spend a lot of time paying attention to me.”

“I don’t have to pay attention,” she replied coolly. “You’re loud enough to make it impossible to ignore you.”

She walked off again, hair swaying, sundress brushing her thighs.

Jake exhaled slowly.

Yeah.

She was definitely going to be the death of him.

And he couldn’t wait.

SIREN:

Ever since you had been assigned to the same unit as Jake months ago, every day started out the same way. He’d keep it professional during the briefings, but the moment you were dismissed to head to your respective jets, he was on your heels like a lost puppy. 

Walking down the hall towards the tarmac, Jake kept in step beside you while he bothered you with the first words of the day:

"Y’know, Siren, I think you're just afraid to admit that you secretly love me." He had that same cocky smile plastered on his face with a toothpick casually kept between his teeth. That stupid toothpick. God, you swear that Jake kept a box of them by his bed and grabbed a new one everyday just to flaunt it and flick it at you at the end of each day.

You rolled your eyes at him, "Oh please, Jake. I wouldn't love you even if you were the last man on earth." An utter lie, but you had to keep his ego in check.

With a wince he uttered, "Ouch, darlin’. That hurts." His Texan drawl was always more evident when he said that pet name.

"Good. Maybe it will finally knock some sense into that thick skull of yours." You knew it wouldn’t, but maybe if you kept this up long enough, it would knock him down just a smidge.

"Hey now, my skull is just fine. It's my heart that's the problem. It beats too fast whenever I'm around you." The wink he sent your way after that was comical, and you hated how it made you feel.

With faux concern, you added, "Well, maybe you should get that checked out. It sounds like tachycardia which I’m pretty sure could turn into a serious medical condition."

"Ha ha, very funny, Siren. You're lucky I find your sarcasm endearing." That was the problem, you’re pretty sure that your decision of being mean to him just made Hangman like you even more.

Teasing him slightly, you joked, "Yeah, I'm sure that's the only reason you like me."

"Well, that, your stunning good looks and your kind, pure heart." He smirked as he shifted his toothpick to the other side.

You scoffed at him, "Save the compliments, Bagman. I know you're just trying to butter me up, so I'll let you win in the next dogfight."

"Who, me? Never."

"Right, because you always play fair."

"’course I do sweetheart. But you know what they say, all's fair in love and war." With that he left you alone to get into his F-18. You wish you had a snide remark left because you hated it when he got the last word in. But to no avail, he had gotten in your head with that simple comment.

JAKE:

Hangman couldn't resist a challenge, especially when it came to Siren. He had been trying to win her over for a few months now, but she always seemed to be one step ahead of him, shutting down his advances with a quick retort or a dismissive wave of her hand. If he was lucky, banter would ensue, and he’d replay it in his head all day long.

But Jake was nothing if not persistent. He was determined to win Siren over, no matter how long it took or how many times he had to try.

As she walked out into the hangar, Jake couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement. He leaned casually against the nearest fighter jet; his arms crossed over his chest.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he called out as she approached. "Looking good as always."

Siren rolled your eyes, but Jake could see a hint of a smile on her lips. He grinned to himself, feeling encouraged. "What do you want, Jake?" she asked, voice tinged with annoyance.

Jake shrugged nonchalantly. "Just wanted to see if you were up for grabbing a drink with me after our training session today. You know, relax a little bit."

Narrowing her eyes at him, clearly not buying his smooth talk. "No thanks, Old Spice. I've got better things to do than hang out with you."

Jake's grin didn't falter. "Oh, c’mon, sweetheart. You know you want to. We could have some fun together. Who knows what could happen?" He understands what that sounded like. In reality, the only think Jake was hoping would happen was to talk to her. A real conversation. That was something few and far between when it came to Siren, but he cherished them.

She shook her head, expression hardening. "I don't have time for games, Jake. So why don't you just leave me alone and focus on training?"

Jake's smile faded slightly, but he refused to give up. "I'm not playing games, Siren. Really wanna see ya at the Hard Deck tonight." Maybe she'd grace him by wearing a sundress like the one she had on the first day she was there. That is, if she ended up going. Most likely not.

Siren raised her brow, clearly skeptical. But there was a hint of something else in her expression, something that gave Jake hope.

As she walked away to her own jet, Jake felt a pat on his shoulder. "Good effort, bud." Oracle offered the shyest bit of comfort as he headed off, "but y'know how she is." He hollered at him with a wink as he trailed behind to follow Siren.

Jake knew that she was a tough nut to crack, but he was up for the challenge. He would win Siren's heart, no matter what it took.

SIREN:

The mess hall was unusually quiet for midday: just the low drone of conversation, the clatter of trays, and the hum of the industrial AC fighting the relentless San Diego heat. The flight tablet was open in front of you, a page of telemetry glowing against the metal table.

Were you supposed to be reviewing patterns? Technically. But it couldn’t keep your usual sharp focus, eyes kept drifting to the edge of the table.

To the stupid red packet sitting against your elbow like a smug little beacon.

Contraband. Contraband you had once mentioned, once, in casual conversation about comfort snacks. Contraband Jake Seresin had somehow procured, smuggled, and dropped off with all the ceremony of a dog delivering a trophy slipper.

You nudged it again, harder. It didn’t disappear.

Phoenix dropped her tray into the seat across from you. “Alright,” she announced, pointing her fork with all the precision of a missile lock, “what the hell was that little scene with Hangman earlier?”

You didn’t bother to lift your eyes. “Which one?”

“The one where he walked by just to leave you a snack and strutted out like he’d just delivered a baby on a commercial jet.”

Your jaw tightened.

Eyes flickering to the gummies.

Traitorous, bright red gummies.

Clearing your throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Phoenix stared at you like you’d just announced the earth was flat. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“He brought you gummies,” Phoenix emphasized slowly. “Your gummies. Your favorite gummies.”

“So?” You say, trying to shrug away the discomfort that was taking residence in your shoulders. “Maybe he brings everyone snacks.”

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix deadpanned. “Hangman. Patron saint of generosity.” She tapped your tablet like she was checking stats. “The list of living creatures he’d willingly feed is—yep—exactly one. Himself.”

“Please,” You remark, forcing your face to remain neutral and not show just how much you were burning up inside. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of me. That’s all he does.”

“No, sweetie.” Phoenix’s voice dropped. “He’s trying to impress you.”

“He is not, he’s just been… weird,” you muttered.

Phoenix perked up. “Weird how?”

“Well…” Hesitatating, because acknowledging this out loud felt it made it real. “He just...shows up.”

Phoenix’s brows shot up. “Shows up?”

“Yes. Everywhere.” Listing off fingers. “My morning run. The hangar bay. The sim hallway. The pilot lounge. He just appears with some dumb comment or” gesturing helplessly at the gummies “this.”

Phoenix let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Jake Seresin is orbiting you like a lovesick satellite.”

Your whole body rejected that statement. “He’s just being annoying.”

“No,” Phoenix corrected, “I annoy you. Rooster annoys you. Hangman makes you” she made a small circular gesture over your face “react.”

“I do not react,” Snapping at Nat, which definitely showed he does make you react.

You groaned, sliding down in the seat and pressing your palms over your face. “This is humiliating.”

“No,” Phoenix said softly, nudging your foot under the table. “This is adorable. And also prime entertainment for the squad, so thank you.”

Peeking through your fingers with a glare. “Nat—don’t.”

Phoenix grinned like a devil and pushed the gummy pack toward you. “You’re keeping them.”

Straightening, you scoffed. “Absolutely not.” just as a familiar presence brushed the edge of your awareness.

Movement in your peripheral vision.

Hangman. Walking in with that loose, arrogant stride that said he knew he looked good. Posture relaxed. Eyes scanning.

Until they found yours.

Hangman approached like he was walking out of a commercial; slow, confident, like the air itself made way for him.

You didn’t look up from your tablet. You didn’t need to. You could feel him coming like a weather change.

He stopped right at your table.

“Afternoon, ladies.” His eyes flicked to the gummy pack beside your elbow.“Treatin’ you alright, darlin’?”

You nudged the pack an inch away, gave him a flat stare that could’ve curdled milk.

“Oh, they’re perfect,” you said lightly. “I keep ’em for emergencies. Like when you start talking.”

Phoenix choked. Actually choked. She had to pound a fist over her chest.

Hangman’s smile twitched before resetting into something self-satisfied and annoyingly warm.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning against the table, “lucky for you, I’m always around if you need a refill.”

Hangman’s eyes dipped to the gummy pack, like he was pleased with himself, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and then he straightened up again.

Then he walked off.

Just like that.

Phoenix grinned and leaned in, resting her chin on her hands. “So. When’s the wedding?”

You let your forehead drop onto your tablet with all the force of a dying jet. “Never. Happening.”

“Mmhmm,” Phoenix hummed, “sure, Jan.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at her—sharp, warning, a full nuclear threat—when you felt it.

That tiny tug in your chest.

That awareness.

Against your better judgment, you looked toward the exit.

Hangman paused in the doorway. Turned. Glanced back at you.

You forced your face into neutrality immediately, but Phoenix still inhaled sharply like she’d witnessed a proposal.

“Nat,” you warned, pointing a finger at her, “if you make one more comment, I’m filling your shampoo bottle with aircraft degreaser.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, hands up. “I’m done.”

You shoved the gummy pack under your tablet, out of sight, out of mind, out of reach.

You didn't throw it out.

You told yourself it was because the trash cans were across the room.

It had nothing to do with him.

Nothing at all.

And you’d keep telling yourself that until it stuck.

JAKE:

A year had passed since Jake laid eyes on the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Many a men have told him to move on, that he’s wasting his time, that it’ll “never happen”. He paid them no mind. Jake was a man who knew what he wanted.

And he wanted Siren.

He’d make it clear this time. No jokes. No teasing. No beating around the bush.

He basically counted this date as his one year anniversary of meeting Siren and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way.

He was a man in love, a man who desperately wanted his woman to know how much he truly loved her.

The mess hall was depleting, the final pilots and sailors piling out after finishing their last meal.

Jake wasn’t hiding per se, he just knew Phoenix liked her privacy and chose to eat near the ending hours. So he waited, patiently, as his plan was crowning off the top of his head.

The second he saw the side of her slick back bun, he reached out, grabbing her arm.

Bad move.

He should’ve accounted for Nat’s sharp reflexes and how she finished top ten in fitness at the academy. Because pretty soon Hangman was doubled over, trying not to be so obvious that he wanted to cry out in pain.

“Jesus dude what the hell! What’re you doing out here, thought you’d be at the hard deck already.” Phoenix’s gaze is wild, still amped up from the moment of adrenaline.

Huffing out a breath, trying to regain his composure, Jake straightens back up, trying to hide the wince that wants to escape. “God, Pheonix, can’t a man just sneak up on ya in peace?”

“You know better than to ask stupid questions like that.” She bites.

“Okay, fair enough,” He breathes out sharply, getting back on track to why he was looking for her in the first place, “I need your help with something, just between us.”

SIREN:

You glance back up at the clock. It’s unlike Pheonix to be late, especially when you have your girl talk.

Your thoughts return back to Jake.

Jake.

God you wish he didn’t affect you so much. You wish you didn’t dream about him before you drifted off to sleep. You wish you didn’t hear his stupid drawl when you were all alone. You wish you weren’t so wrapped up in your thoughts about him that you didn’t even notice that Nat already made her way into your room.

“Someone’s in loveee” She croons as she makes her way into your quarters.

“I’m not in love.” You bite out, worrying she may have seen the way you were definitely lost in your thoughts of a certain blonde.

“Who says I meant you,” Phoenix raises her brow to you, “I meant Hangman is head over heels for you”

Rolling your eyes at Nat’s comment about how he’s fallen for you. "Oh please, Jake just likes the thrill of the chase. He's like a dog with a bone, he won't let it go until he gets what he wants," You retort as you put away your gear for the day.

She just shakes her head, "No, really Siren, he's into you. I mean, he doesn't do this with any other girl."

“Yeah right.”, you scoff, “It doesn’t matter anyways, nothing would ever happen between us.”

Phoenix smirks, “Keep telling yourself that. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. There’s definitely something there.”

Siren scoffs. "And you're an expert on Jake's inner feelings now?"

Phoenix shrugs. "I'm just saying, you two have chemistry. I can see it."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "Chemistry? More like oil and water." You expected a laugh, much to your disappointment you got a deadpan look.

“C’mon Siren, stop beating around the bush. I get it, he’s an ass, but Bagman actually loves you. So put your big girl pants on and do something about it because I’m tired of hearing the same thing from the both of you.”

“Both?” You perk up at that simple four letter word and the weight that it holds.

Pheonix offers no extra information except: “Just come to the Hard Deck tonight, you’ll see.”

JAKE:

When it came to Siren, it’s like Jake had a sixth sense. He was just throwing darts with Javy, and he could feel her presence without even seeing her. Turning around, he watches as Siren walks into the Hard Deck with Phoenix.

He must’ve been staring longer than he realized because Coyote nudged his side to signal it was his turn.

“Y’know man, you should just throw in the towel because you and Siren are never happening” Javy knew his words were falling on deaf ears; Jake had never been the type to give up.

Jake just grins. "Hey, you never know. Maybe the 146th time is the charm." It might be creepy that Jake has kept track of all the times he’s made a move, but he couldn’t care less.

"You say that every time," Javy chuckles. “I mean c’mon, how many times can you keep trying before it becomes pathetic?"

Jake shrugs. "I don't know, Javy. I just can't help it. I’m telling you, she’s the one for me."

SIREN:

The Hard Deck is buzzing tonight, music a little too loud, lights a little too warm, that familiar mix of salt air and stale beer wrapping around you like a well-worn jacket. You’re leaned against the bar with Nat at your side, Penny polishing a glass in front of you while you sip something that’s just shy of strong.

You’re mid-story, something about Oracle, a cue ball, and a near fistfight with a very offended pool shark, when Penny’s gaze flicks over your shoulder. She doesn’t say anything at first, just tilts her chin the slightest bit, that knowing glint in her eyes.

“Incoming,” she murmurs, like she’s calling out a traffic pattern, and her mouth curls into a wicked grin. “Oh, this I gotta see, I can’t wait to see how you shut him down this time.”

Normally, that would make you smirk. You’d already be gearing up your next insult, mentally sharpening the knives.

But tonight… you just shake your head.

You feel the start of a smile tug at your lips, small and stubborn, like it’s trying to sneak past your defenses. “I’m not gonna turn him down this time,” you say casually, taking another sip.

Silence.

You glance up to find both women staring at you.

Penny’s eyebrows shoot up, and then that slow, triumphant smirk spreads across her face. You can practically see the thought; she’s just won some long-standing bet with Mav, and he’s never going to hear the end of it.

Nat just grins wider. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you two some privacy.” She pats your shoulder and pushes off the bar, heading toward the pool table. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she calls over her shoulder.

“That leaves nothing off the table!” you shout back.

Penny snorts, turning to grab a couple of fresh glasses as another cluster of patrons approaches the bar. “I’ll, uh, give you kids some room,” she says under her breath. “Just remember—I reserve the right to throw you both out if you start making out on my bar.”

You choke. “That’s not going to happen.”

Penny just smiles, that annoyingly knowing, bartender-who’s-seen-it-all smile. “We’ll see.”

And then he’s there.

You don’t have to look to know. His presence brushes across your skin like static before you even hear him. Hangman steps up to the bar beside you, one hand braced on the edge, the other sliding into his pocket as if he’s posing for a recruitment poster.

“Evenin’, darlin',” he drawls smoothly, his eyes already locked on you. “Hard Deck’s lookin’ real good tonight.”

You don’t turn right away. You let him wait half a beat, then glance over with your best unimpressed expression. “Wow. Starting off strong with the generic line, Seresin. You try that one on everyone, or am I just special?”

He grins, that slow, familiar curve that usually makes you want to throw something at him. Tonight, it twists a little differently in your chest.

“Aw, c’mon, Morales,” he says. “You know you’re special. I even left Javy to play darts with Rooster for this. That’s sacrifice.”

“Pretty sure that just means you hate losing,” you say, turning to fully face him now, elbows on the bar. “Don’t make it sound romantic.”

He laughs, low and warm. “Depends on your definition of romance. I gave up a guaranteed win to come get rejected by you for the...” he pauses, eyes flicking upward as if actually counting, “hundred and forty-sixth time, give or take.”

You arch a brow. “You’re keeping score now?”

“Sugar, I’ve been keepin’ score since day one.”

You huff out a short laugh in spite of yourself. Of course he has.

He leans in just enough that you can hear him over the music, but not enough to crowd your space. “So,” he says, “what do you say? I buy you a drink, you insult me a little, we argue about who’s the better pilot, and I pretend I don’t like it when you roll your eyes at me.”

Normally this is the part where you’d shut it down. Quick, efficient, a precise kill shot to his ego.

Instead, you let your gaze wander over his face, too handsome for his own good, the faint sun lines near his eyes, the way his hair curls just slightly at the ends when he’s been out in the heat all day. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

Dangerous.

And yet.

“Alright,” you say lightly. “Buy me a drink.”

For once, it’s his turn to blink.

“Yeah?” he asks, almost cautiously.

You shrug, playing it off. “What? You gonna stand there and gape, or are you actually getting my drink?”

A slow, disbelieving smile spreads across his face, bright and brilliant. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, recovering fast. “What’ll it be?”

You give him your usual order and watch as he relays it to Penny, who raises a single eyebrow at you over his shoulder. You ignore her. Barely.

When he turns back, he leans an elbow on the bar, mirroring your posture. “So,” he says, “what’s the occasion? You finally realized resistance is futile?”

You snort. “Don’t flatter yourself, Old Spice. I just figured if you’re gonna keep harassing me, I might as well get a free drink out of it.”

“Oh, so I’m an investment now,” he says, smirking. “I can work with that.”

“You’re a tax write-off at best.”

He laughs, head tipping back, crinkles around his eyes, genuine, and something about it warms your chest more than the alcohol ever has. He drops his gaze to you again, softer now, like he can’t help it.

“Y’know,” he says, tone dropping just a fraction, “you’re in a surprisingly good mood tonight. I was kinda lookin’ forward to you threatening bodily harm.”

“Don’t worry,” you reply. “Night’s still young.”

“Promise?” he teases.

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he says simply.

For a moment, the noise of the bar fades. It’s just the two of you, standing too close, pretending this is still just a game.

You break eye contact first, picking up the drink Penny sets in front of you. “Careful, Hangman,” you say, bringing the glass to your lips. “Keep talking like that and people might start thinking you actually like me.”

You mean it like a joke.

It doesn’t land like one.

“Maybe I do,” he replies, too quick, too honest.

You swallow, the burn of the drink mixing with something else you refuse to name. “Tragic,” you manage. “Sounds like a you problem.”

He grins, that soft, stupidly fond one you’ve been trying not to see. “Has been for a while, sweetheart.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. The fact that you’re still standing here, still trading jabs, still letting him buy you drinks and look at you like that, that’s answer enough.

JAKE:

As the night wore on, the other pilots at the Hard Deck gradually began to filter out, heading back to their respective homes or barracks. Siren and Jake were the last ones left, still deep in conversation while nursing their drinks.

Finally, she stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "I think it's time to call it a night," she sighed, glancing over at Jake.

He nodded, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Sounds good to me. You want me to walk you back to your place?" It was a long shot given that you never accepted these advances in the past, but he was feeling lucky after tonight.

Siren hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Sure, why not?"

Stepping out together into the cool night air, the waves from the beach having a calming effect. Jake fell into step beside her, his hand hovering close but never quite touching.

"So," he said after a moment. "You're finally starting to come around, huh?"

Siren rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "Don't get too excited, Bagman. I still think you're an arrogant ass."

Jake chuckled. "And yet, here we are. Walking home together." Hopefully, something that he’ll get to do every night. And maybe, even more hopefully, he’ll be walking with her to a shared home.

She shoots him a sidelong glance, a faint smile gracing her face. "Don't read too much into it, Seresin."

Jake shrugged, his grin widening. "Hey, a guy can dream, can't he?" And he was dreaming. Or, more accurately, has been dreaming. He couldn’t wait to get home, call his ma and tell her that he’d made progress in his relationship with her future daughter-in-law.

For now, they walked in comfortable silence, the tension between you slowly easing. Basking in the company of each other and finally realizing just how easy it is to be side by side. Like she was his missing puzzle piece all this time. Nearing her building, Siren turned to face Jake, a sweet smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Thanks for walking me home, Jake," she voiced softly.

Jake shrugged, his own smile matching hers. "Anytime, darlin’."

Standing by the doorway in silence, taking each other in, neither wanting to be the one who ends the night. Jake’s eyes flittered down to her lips, a question on the tip of his tongue, when he met Siren's gaze again.

Jake’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper as he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

He knew the question was a risk as he took in the way her eyes ever so slightly widened in shock, but when Jake saw her nod of confirmation, he didn’t want to waste another second.

The moment your lips touched, Jake felt himself go weak in the knees. His imagination hadn’t done her justice; she was far more intoxicating than he could’ve ever anticipated.

He also hadn’t expected her to deepen the kiss. But, by God, he was eternally grateful for it.

Wrapping a hand around her waist and the other resting gently on her cheek, he felt like he could live the rest of his life with Siren in his arms.

The moment she pressed closer to him, fingers tangled and pulling at his hair, he knew he was a goner. It took everything in him not to take it further. But he needed to be patient. Show Siren that she actually meant something to him. That he didn’t just want to use her.

With every bit of self-control he could muster, Jake pulled away, eyes immediately falling to her now swollen lips. I did that. He thought.

You two stayed separated, the moment of silence punctuated by your pants, finally taking in what just happened.

Jake kissed you. Jake actually got to kiss you. You had wanted him to kiss you. You pulled him closer. You’re not slapping him or slamming the door in his face or looking away with regret.

Hallelujah!

As much as Jake wanted to break out in song and celebrate, the only thing he could bring himself to say was:

“I guess we can’t call you Siren anymore, huh?”

With her signature eye roll and a light slap to his chest, she scoffed, “Oh, shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A/N: WHAT THE HELLLLLL THIS TOOK ME THREE YEARS IM DYINGGGG - ngl to yall i have a whole universe in my head of jake and siren so if you ever want more drabbles just say the word!! mwah hope you enjoyed these two lovebirds!

tags: @hangmanapologist @rae-gar-targaryen @fanboygarcia @aescapisms @dearwalker @floydsglasses @joaquinwhorres @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love @ofstarsandvibranium @bubblebuckys @rhettabbotts @sunmoonandeddie @siempre-bucky @sebs-daybreak @the-omni-princess @viperbarnes @withahappyrefrain @pagesfromthevoid some moots😛

[all-my-love-for-harry]

You're so gorgeous. (part three)

pairing; jake seresin x fem!reader

summary; You and Jake Seresin have been inseparable since childhood—two halves of the same heartbeat, growing up side by side through every scraped knee, late-night secret, and long-distance phone call. Somewhere along the way, friendship blurred into something deeper, something neither of you dared to name, and two lifelong best friends learn that sometimes the person you’ve been searching for has been standing right in front of you all along.

word count; 7.1k

a/n; part three is up! things are getting interesting hopefully

series masterlist //masterlist

The Hard Deck was already humming when you and Jake stepped inside — the warm, golden lights spilling over wooden tables and surfboards mounted on the walls, the faint scent of salt and beer carried in from the open deck. Laughter and music mixed with the low thrum of conversation, and as soon as Jake crossed the threshold, a few heads turned.

He didn’t miss a beat, though. Just placed a guiding hand at the small of your back and steered you toward the bar like he owned the place. Which, judging by the way people greeted him, he might as well have.

You looked around, taking in the room — the clusters of aviators in uniform, a group shouting over a game of pool, the jukebox playing something old and lively. “It’s… louder than I expected,” you said, raising your voice a little.

Jake grinned, leaning down so you could hear him over the noise. “Told you. It’s basically a second base for us.”

Before you could answer, the woman behind the bar turned — brunette, sharp-eyed, with an easy smile that spoke of a thousand nights like this one.

“Well, look who it is,” Penny Benjamin said, drying her hands with a towel. “I was starting to think you’d finally forgotten where I keep the good whiskey.”

Jake leaned an elbow on the counter, flashing that signature grin. “Now, Penny, you know I’d never cheat on your bar like that.”

Her eyes flicked past him — to you. “And who’s this?”

Jake didn’t hesitate. “The most important person in the world,” he said, utterly straight-faced. “My best friend.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes even as warmth bloomed in your chest. “He’s unbearable,” you said, extending a hand with a small, embarrassed smile while giving her your real name.

Penny chuckled, shaking it. “That checks out. Anyone who can put up with him this long deserves a drink on the house.”

Jake pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “See? This is why I don’t bring her anywhere. People like her better than me.”

“That’s not hard,” Penny said dryly, before glancing between you both. “What’ll it be?”

Jake nodded toward you. “Ladies first.”

You bit back a smile, scanning the menu chalked above the bar. “Something fruity,” you decided. “Surprise me.”

“And I’ll have the usual,” Jake said, sliding a few bills across the counter before she could protest.

“You never let me give you free drinks,” Penny said, amused.

“Not in front of my best friend,” he teased. “Gotta look like a gentleman.”

Penny shook her head, moving to make your drinks while Jake leaned closer to you, lowering his voice just a little. “Told you she’s the best. Owns the place, knows everyone. If you ever need a drink or a distraction, Penny’s your girl.”

“She seems lovely,” you said softly, watching the way he smiled when he said her name — a kind of fond respect there that told you Penny had seen the best and worst of him over the years.

“She is,” he agreed. “Practically adopted half the pilots here. You’ll like her.”

Penny returned a minute later, setting a bottle of beer in front of him and a tall glass of something pink and bright for you. “Enjoy, sweetheart,” she said, smiling at you before glancing back at Jake. “And try not to get kicked out this time.”

He saluted her with the bottle. “No promises.”

You laughed, clinking your glass lightly against his. The sweetness hit your tongue, tart and cool, and for a moment — just a moment — you let yourself relax.

Jake watched you over the rim of his beer, that faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but it was there — that quiet satisfaction at seeing a little bit of light back in your eyes.

What he didn’t see was the Daggers at the pool table, frozen mid-game, every one of them staring at the sight of Jake Hangman Seresin standing at the bar with a woman they’d never met, laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You hadn’t noticed yet, but they’d spotted him the moment he walked through the door.

Phoenix was the first to nudge Rooster, who quickly elbowed Coyote, who elbowed Bob. By the time Jake started weaving through the crowd toward them, the entire squad was suddenly very busy pretending to mind their own business. Phoenix studied the drink menu like she hadn’t memorized it years ago, Coyote started chalking his cue for a game that wasn’t happening, and Rooster — bless him — leaned against the jukebox with a casualness so forced it was almost painful.

Jake saw right through it. So did you.

“They’re subtle,” you murmured under your breath as he led you through the tables.

“They’re terrible,” Jake corrected, smirking as he raised a hand in greeting.

“Hangman,” Phoenix called, playing it cool. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight. You told us at work you weren’t coming.”

“Changed my mind,” Jake said easily, his arm brushing against yours as he stopped by the pool table. “Figured I’d introduce someone important to me.”

The squad’s collective attention shifted immediately to you.

Jake’s mouth tipped into a grin. “Everyone, this is Georgie.”

You smiled politely. “My name’s actually—” you gave your name, “—but he’s called me Georgie since we were kids, so I’ve given up fighting it.”

That earned a laugh, even from Rooster, who looked between the two of you with a mix of curiosity and something like disbelief.

“Wait,” Phoenix said, blinking. “You’ve known Hangman since you were kids?”

You nodded. “We grew up next door to each other. He used to steal my bike and I used to tattle on him.”

“Wasn’t stealing,” Jake interjected with a grin. “Borrowing without permission.”

“Right,” you deadpanned. “Because that makes it better.”

That broke the ice — Coyote laughed outright, Bob smiled into his drink, and Phoenix shook her head with an amused scoff.

Rooster leaned forward on his cue, smirking. “So the great Hangman’s got a childhood best friend. Guess there’s hope for him after all.”

Jake just shrugged, grabbing a beer off the table. “She’s been putting up with me since we were babies. Y’all don’t even come close.”

“That’s… a long time.” Bob asked, interested.

“Why Georgie, though?” Fanboy chimed in, leaning against the table.

“She got glasses when we were seven, some kids said mean things. I told her she looked gorgeous, and it stuck.” Jake said, softer now.

“Georgie stuck,” you corrected, smiling faintly.

Jake tilted his head. “Still means the same thing.”

There was a quiet pause — the kind that says everyone just picked up on something but no one’s about to call it out. Phoenix was the first to recover, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

Rooster huffed a laugh. “I was expecting more of a ‘we hated each other first’ story.”

You chuckled. “Oh, we definitely fought. Constantly. He once threw a frog at me.”

Jake pointed his bottle at you. “In my defense, you told me to catch it.”

“You threw it at me.”

“Details,” he said, shrugging.

The table broke into laughter, the tension easing into something easy and warm.

Phoenix leaned in toward Rooster, her voice low but not quiet enough. “I still think they’re dating.”

You and Jake spoke in perfect unison.

“No.” “Absolutely not.”

He glanced down at you with a crooked grin that was almost boyish. “See? Can’t even get the story straight, but we’re on the same page there.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile, and the Daggers just exchanged that look — the one that said they totally are, they just don’t know it yet.

After a few minutes of playful teasing and catching up, Coyote leaned on the edge of the pool table, eyebrows raised. “So, Georgie… uh, I mean—” He caught himself, giving you a small smile. “You’re just visiting Hangman for the weekend, right?”

Jake glanced at you, lips tugging into a faint smirk. “She’s staying with me for a little while.”

You gave him a look, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. Neither of you said why, and to your surprise, the Daggers didn’t press. They seemed satisfied with that answer for now, which made you appreciate them even more.

“Good enough,” Rooster said, spinning a pool cue in his hands. “Just don’t get him into trouble.”

“I’ll try,” you replied, and Jake snorted beside you.

Later, Jake tugged you toward the dartboard. “Alright, let’s see if all that time yelling at me in Texas translated into actual skill.”

You laughed, gripping a dart. “I doubt it.”

“Only one way to find out.” He demonstrated first, tossing a dart that landed in the bullseye. “See? Beginner’s luck.”

You rolled your eyes and took your turn. You hit a decent number, and he let out an approving whistle. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

A couple of the Daggers, lingering near the bar and pretending to be absorbed in a pool game, watched the two of you with quiet amusement. They exchanged subtle glances, whispers just loud enough for each other to catch.

“Yeah,” Phoenix murmured to Bob. “They’re definitely in love with each other.”

Jake leaned close to you as you prepared your next throw, his presence warm and familiar. “Don’t let them distract you. Focus on the dart, Georgie.”

You bit back a smile, feeling a flush creep into your cheeks. “You’re way too close.”

“Am I?” he teased, grinning down at you. “Just trying to make sure you hit the board and not the wall.”

It was effortless — soft teasing and easy companionship, the kind of dynamic only years of friendship could create. And though neither of you admitted it aloud, both of you could feel it: the shift in the air, the way the space between you felt… different, charged in the quietest, most subtle way.

The Daggers didn’t have to push or pry. They could see it all, clear as day. And Jake? He just kept tossing darts and laughing with you, blissfully unaware — or maybe very aware — that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

The rest of the night passed with easy laughter and conversation. The Daggers seemed to include you in everything, pulling you into playful debates over pool shots, teasing banter about who could throw the best darts, and even the ongoing argument about the best surf spot nearby.

Rooster leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Alright, Georgie, now that you’re officially part of our group. Tomorrow, beach day with the whole squad — you in?”

You grinned, glancing at Jake, who gave a subtle shrug with that I’ll happily drag you into my world smile. “Count me in. As long as nobody’s planning to make me run into the water with them.”

Phoenix laughed. “Oh, don’t worry — we’ll ease you in. Maybe.”

On the drive back to Jake’s house, the city lights gliding past, the conversation was light and teasing. Jake asked about your first impressions of the Hard Deck, your favorite part of the night. You laughed, answering his questions, your words flowing easily as the engine hummed beneath you.

“Sounds like you had fun,” Jake said finally, glancing at you with that easy, warm smile.

“I did,” you admitted. “Thanks for… bringing me tonight. It really helped.”

Jake hummed, eyes on the road but the corner of his mouth tugged in a way that made your chest feel light. “Glad you came. I knew you’d like it. And, uh… it’s fun having you around, Georgie.”

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “I’m really glad I came, too.”

When you pulled into the driveway, the quiet of the house welcomed you back. You turned to him, brushing hair behind your ear. “Thank you for tonight. Seriously. I had a really good time.”

Jake’s grin softened. “Anytime. You know that.”

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, a quick, firm hug that carried more gratitude than words ever could. “Goodnight, Jake.”

“Night, Georgie,” he murmured, holding you just a moment longer than necessary, feeling the warmth of your body against his.

You stepped back, heading up the stairs, and he lingered at the bottom, just watching.

The soft glow of the hallway light caught your hair, the way you moved — easy, comfortable, completely at home here. And for a moment, his heart beat a little faster, a little harder, than it had in a long time.

He swallowed, straightening his back, and made his way up the stairs, the feeling of you — of this—staying with him long after his bedroom door clicked shut.

—

The smell of breakfast drifted through the house — warm, buttery, familiar. Jake had been up for a while, moving easily around the kitchen, bare feet on cool tile and sleeves rolled up as he flipped pancakes and scrambled eggs. The soft crackle of bacon and the faint hum of a country playlist on the speaker filled the space with a kind of easy calm that came naturally when he was thinking of you.

He’d set the table by the time he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

You appeared in the doorway, hair still a little damp from your shower, a sundress thrown over your swimsuit and sunglasses perched on your head. “Wow,” you said with a grin, eyeing the spread. “You’ve been busy.”

Jake turned from the stove, spatula in hand, that easy smile tugging at his mouth. “Told you I’d make you real breakfast eventually. Figured today was the day.”

You crossed the room, sliding into one of the stools at the counter. “This looks amazing. You didn’t have to go all out.”

He shrugged, setting down a plate in front of you — pancakes stacked high, fruit on the side, eggs still steaming. “You’re in my house. Gotta feed my guest right.”

You smiled softly, picking up your fork. “You know, you’re setting the bar kind of high here. I might never leave.”

Jake chuckled, sitting across from you with his own plate. “Guess I’ll just have to keep the pancakes coming, then.”

There was a pause then — a quiet, comfortable one — before you said, a little softer, “I didn’t cry myself to sleep last night, you know. So I’d say the evening was a success.”

Jake looked up from his plate, brows raising, that faint smile tugging at his mouth. “That’s a hell of a low bar, Georgie.”

You grinned, self-deprecating. “Hey, baby steps.”

He rolled his eyes but his tone was gentle. “You’re doing better than you think. You just needed… a little change of scenery.”

You met his gaze for a moment, warmth blooming in your chest. “And pancakes.”

“And pancakes,” he agreed, clinking his fork lightly against yours like a toast.

After breakfast, Jake helped clear the plates while you rinsed them in the sink, the quiet rhythm of it so domestic it made something small and unspoken tug in his chest. He caught himself watching you — the way your sundress shifted when you reached for the faucet, how your hair caught the sunlight — and had to glance away, clearing his throat before it got weird.

“Beach bag’s by the door,” he said casually, grabbing his keys off the counter. “You good to go?”

You turned, drying your hands on a dish towel. “Yep. Sunscreen, towel, and snacks all accounted for. Look at me being prepared.”

Jake smirked, following you to the door. “You? Prepared? Hell must’ve frozen over.”

You bumped his shoulder as you passed. “You’re just mad because I didn’t forget the snacks.”

He laughed — that low, easy sound that always made you smile — and held the door open for you.

The drive to the beach was calm, sunlight pouring in through the truck windows, the air carrying that salt-heavy warmth that clung to everything in the mornings here. You had one leg tucked up on the seat, the hem of your sundress brushing against your thigh as you scrolled through your phone, humming softly along to the song playing through the speakers.

Jake glanced over once, just briefly, and found himself smiling before he looked back at the road.

“You sure you had fun last night?” he asked.

You turned to him, grin blooming instantly. “Yeah. Your friends are awesome. I was half-expecting to be ignored while you all talked pilot stuff, but they were so nice. Invited me to the beach and everything.”

“Yeah?” He couldn’t hide the little spark of pride in his voice. “Told you they’d like you.”

“I think they just like me because I laughed at Rooster’s terrible jokes,” you teased.

Jake groaned. “God, don’t encourage him.”

You laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners, and that sound—soft, unguarded, happy—hit him right in the chest.

When you reached the beach, the Daggers were already there, their laughter and voices carrying over the crash of the surf. Umbrellas were planted, coolers half-buried in the sand, and someone—probably Fanboy—had already started tossing a football around.

“Look who decided to show up!” Payback called out as soon as he spotted you two walking down.

Jake just grinned, tossing his keys into the bag. “Told you we’d make it.”

Phoenix lifted her sunglasses to get a better look at you, her smile genuine. “Glad you came, Georgie.”

You returned the smile, setting your things down beside Jake’s. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The next few hours slipped by in easy laughter and sunshine. The Daggers folded you into every conversation without hesitation—offering you drinks, sunscreen, stories that had you laughing so hard you nearly cried. Jake mostly hung back, sunglasses hiding his eyes as he watched you fit seamlessly into his world, your laughter tangling with his friends’ in a way that felt... right.

“Hey, Seresin,” Rooster said, wandering over with a beer in hand, nodding toward you where you were sitting with Phoenix and Bob. “You sure you two aren’t together?”

Jake shot him a look, dry as ever. “Pretty damn sure.”

Rooster raised a brow, smirking. “Uh-huh. Sure thing, Hangman.”

Jake just shook his head, but when he glanced back toward you, the corners of his mouth softened anyway. You were laughing at something Phoenix said, sunlight catching in your hair, and he thought—just for a second—that maybe Rooster wasn’t entirely wrong for assuming.

By the time the sun had climbed high overhead, the Daggers had claimed a whole stretch of the beach as their own — towels sprawled in a messy semicircle, coolers half-empty, the air filled with the lazy hum of conversation and waves. Someone had music playing low from a speaker, the kind of easy summer soundtrack that felt like it could go on forever.

You sat cross-legged in the sand, your sunglasses slipping down your nose as you laughed at one of Coyote’s stories — something about Jake trying to flirt with a waitress and accidentally spilling beer all over himself.

Jake pointed at him with mock offense. “You’ve told that story like ten times, man.”

Coyote grinned. “And it gets funnier every time.”

You were still laughing, the sound bright and warm as sunlight, and Jake could only roll his eyes and shake his head. “You gonna defend me or what, Georgie?”

“Oh no,” you said, grinning up at him. “That story’s too good to ruin with the truth.”

That earned a round of laughter from the group, and Jake pressed a hand to his chest in mock betrayal. “Unbelievable. My own best friend.”

Jake leaned back on his elbows, eyes squinting toward the waves. “You know,” he started, “Georgie can’t see something hurt without trying to fix it.”

You groaned softly. “Oh no, don’t start.”

He ignored you, grin tugging at his mouth. “When we were eight, she tried to rescue this baby bird that fell outta a tree in her yard. Thing was half dead, and she’s out there crying and bleeding ‘cause it kept peckin’ at her. Wouldn’t let me help, either.”

Fanboy was already laughing. “She was getting attacked by a bird?”

“It wasn’t attacking me,” you said defensively, your cheeks warming. “I was helping it.”

Jake chuckled. “You were getting your ass kicked by a bird.”

“It lived,” you countered, pointing a finger at him.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Yeah, yeah. It lived. She had that poor thing in a shoebox for a week, feeding it with an eyedropper. Thought she was a doctor or somethin’.”

You couldn’t help laughing at the memory, shaking your head. “You were just mad I wouldn’t let you touch it.”

“I was mad because you wouldn’t stop crying,” he said, voice softening in a way only you caught. “You’ve always had this… big heart, Georgie. Even when it got you pecked to hell.”

Fanboy grinned. “Man, that’s adorable. I can’t believe you remember all that.”

Jake just shrugged, reaching for his drink. “Hard to forget the girl who tried to nurse a bird back to life in a shoe box.”

That got a chorus of laughter from the Daggers — and you, despite your embarrassment, were smiling too.

The Daggers had split into smaller groups — Payback and Bob were arguing over who made the better playlist, Fanboy was setting up a game of spikeball, and Rooster was half-asleep in his chair, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

You were sitting cross-legged on a towel, hair tossed by the ocean breeze, talking animatedly about something with Natasha — something about favorite movies, judging by the way you gestured and laughed softly when she disagreed.

Jake sat a few feet away, a beer sweating in his hand, pretending to listen to whatever Coyote was saying. But every few minutes, his gaze drifted.

It wasn’t intentional — it just happened. He’d look over, and there you were: sunlight caught in your hair, shoulders relaxed for the first time in weeks, eyes bright again. You laughed at something Natasha said, tipping your head back, and Jake felt something tight in his chest ease just a little.

He told himself he was just glad to see you smiling again. That was all.

But Coyote noticed.

So did Phoenix, who hid her knowing smirk behind her sunglasses.

Bob caught it too — the way Jake’s expression softened every time you spoke, how his attention never really left you even when he was laughing along with the others. And none of them said a word.

Because it wasn’t something you called out loud. It was the kind of look that spoke for itself — one that said I know you. I’ve always known you.

You caught his eye once, mid-laugh, and for a fleeting second, Jake forgot to breathe. You smiled at him — that soft, familiar one that reached your eyes — and he could only smile back, quietly, before looking away like it didn’t mean something.

But every single one of them saw it.

And they all knew.

—

The sun was long gone by the time everyone started packing up, Jake carried most of the heavier stuff — the cooler, the umbrella — while you rolled up towels and shook the sand from your dress. The Daggers said their goodbyes with easy smiles and promises to do it again soon.

By the time you and Jake made it back to the truck, the world had settled into that sleepy kind of calm — the windows down, warm air streaming through, salt still clinging to your skin. You were halfway through telling him how much you’d missed the beach when your phone buzzed in your lap.

You froze. The name flashing on the screen turned your stomach.

Jake glanced over, catching the look on your face before his eyes flicked to the phone. “That him?”

You nodded, locking the screen before the call could go to voicemail. “Yeah.” Your voice was small, almost apologetic. “He’s called a few times this week.”

Jake’s jaw flexed, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. “You gonna call him back?”

“No.” You stared out the window, the word sharp and certain, though your throat felt tight around it. “There’s nothing left to say.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable — just heavy. The kind that hummed with everything you weren’t saying out loud.

After a moment, Jake reached over and turned down the radio. “You don’t have to feel bad about ignoring him, Georgie,” he said softly. “He’s the one who made that choice, not you.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat stubborn. “It’s not that I feel bad, it’s just… I don’t get it. How do you tell someone you love them, plan a whole life together, and then just—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “It’s like none of it ever mattered.”

Jake exhaled slowly, eyes still on the road. “It mattered,” he said. “You don’t just stop meaning something to somebody overnight. And you sure as hell don’t stop being worth it because he didn’t know how to hold on to you.”

Your chest ached at the gentleness in his tone. “You always know what to say.”

“Yeah, well,” he said with a half-smile, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “you’ve always been easy to care about, Georgie.”

You blinked fast, fighting the warmth rising behind your eyes, and turned your gaze back to the window before he could see it. “You’re too good to me, Jake.”

“Maybe,” he said quietly, his fingers drumming once on the steering wheel, “but I don’t mind.”

The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence — just the hum of the engine, the fading light painting the inside of the truck in gold. And when you finally pulled up to the house, Jake didn’t move to get out right away.

He just looked at you — really looked — like he was making sure you were okay before stepping inside.

The house was dim when you both stepped inside, the fading streetlight spilling through the curtains in thin gold lines. Jake locked the door behind you, his keys landing in the bowl by the entryway with a soft clatter.

Neither of you said much — there wasn’t really a need to. The weight of the day lingered in the air, but it wasn’t heavy. Just quiet.

You both drifted toward your rooms in an unspoken rhythm — Jake tugging off his shirt as he disappeared down the hall, you gathering clean clothes before slipping into the shower. The water was hot and steady against your skin, washing away the salt and sand, the last sting of that phone call.

When you emerged, the house smelled faintly of the ocean and Jake’s cologne — warm and clean, like cedar and sun. Your hair was still damp when you padded barefoot into the living room. Jake was already there, sitting on the couch in a t-shirt and sweatpants, the remote in his hand.

He looked up when he saw you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, Georgie.”

“Hey,” you murmured, curling up beside him. “What are we watching?”

He shrugged, flipping through channels until something soft and quiet filled the screen — not quite a romance, not quite a drama, something in between. The kind of movie you didn’t really have to follow, just feel.

You leaned into him gradually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your head found his shoulder, and he didn’t move — just adjusted slightly so you’d be more comfortable.

The only sounds were the soft hum of the TV and the ocean outside, the waves rolling against the shore like a lullaby.

You didn’t talk. You didn’t need to.

Jake could feel your breathing even out, slow and steady against his side. He glanced down to find your eyes closed, your mouth parted slightly in sleep. A strand of damp hair clung to your cheek, and without thinking, he brushed it away gently with his thumb.

You didn’t stir.

Jake stayed still, his arm draped loosely around your shoulders, the warmth of you grounding him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

He should’ve moved — his neck was stiff, and he still smelled faintly of sunscreen and salt — but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

So Jake sat there, the movie flickering quietly across the room, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath your cheek — and he let the night hold still around you both.

—

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the sunlight filtering through the curtains — soft and warm, stretching lazily across your bedspread. The second thing you noticed was the blanket tucked neatly around you.

You blinked, frowning a little. You didn’t remember walking yourself to bed last night.

The faint hum of the ocean drifted through the window, mingling with the quiet creak of the house settling. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes as it clicked — Jake must’ve carried you. The thought made your chest tighten, a small, fond ache blooming somewhere deep inside.

The clock on your nightstand read just past nine. You stretched, tugged on a loose T-shirt and a pair of soft shorts, and padded down the hall toward the stairs.

The sound of the front door clicking shut reached you just as you hit the bottom step.

Jake was there, turning from the entryway, his face flushed and hair damp with sweat. His gray T-shirt clung to him — chest, shoulders, arms — every line defined, his dog tags sticking slightly to his skin.

You froze mid-step before catching yourself. “Morning,” you said, forcing your voice to sound casual.

He grinned when he saw you, still breathing a little heavy. “Hey, Georgie. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, moving toward the kitchen to distract yourself, “better than I have in a while.” You grabbed two mugs, filling one with coffee as if you weren’t acutely aware of the way his biceps flexed when he reached for a towel to wipe his face.

“Good,” he said easily, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “You looked wiped last night.”

You arched a brow, handing him the other mug. “I didn’t fall asleep on you, did I?”

Jake chuckled, taking a sip. “You did. Out cold halfway through the movie.”

You groaned softly. “God, sorry. You should’ve woken me up.”

He shook his head, that small, familiar smile tugging at his lips. “You looked comfortable. Didn’t wanna ruin it.”

You tried to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck and turned toward the fridge. “So,” you said, opening it, “what do you want for breakfast, hero?”

Jake leaned against the counter, still catching his breath from his run, his eyes soft and amused. “Surprise me. But maybe something that doesn’t involve bacon this time.”

You laughed quietly, glancing over your shoulder. “Go take a shower,” you said, nudging Jake toward the stairs with your elbow when he lingered by the counter. “You’re sweating all over my clean floors.”

He arched a brow, that teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Your floors?”

“Temporary shared custody,” you shot back, shooing him with a spatula. “Go on. I’ll get started on breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, voice low with a smirk before heading up the stairs.

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. The moment you heard the shower start, you pulled the waffle iron from the cabinet and got to work. The kitchen filled with the sweet scent of batter and coffee, sunlight glinting off the countertops. There was something grounding about it — the simple act of cooking, of being in motion.

When Jake came back down, his hair was still damp and curling slightly at the ends, a soft black T-shirt clinging to his shoulders. He moved easily through the kitchen, barefoot, relaxed in a way you rarely saw him.

He leaned on the counter, watching you pour another round of batter. “Smells good in here,” he said, voice warm.

“Yeah, well,” you said, flipping the waffle iron closed, “don’t thank me yet. I’m making you cut the fruit.”

He laughed, reaching for the cutting board. “I knew there’d be a catch.”

You passed him a bowl of strawberries and blueberries, and he got to work beside you, the rhythm between you two effortless — your movements falling into sync, your quiet laughter filling the space between songs playing faintly from the radio.

When everything was ready, Jake carried the plates to the table while you grabbed the syrup.

“So,” he said as he sat down, slicing into a waffle, “you got any plans today, Georgie? Or are we committing to a lazy Sunday?”

You poured syrup over your plate, shrugging lightly. “I’m leaning toward lazy. Maybe laundry. Maybe a nap.”

Jake grinned. “A woman after my own heart.”

You smiled back, resting your chin in your hand as you looked across the table at him. “You sure you don’t have somewhere to be? Hard Deck, base, saving the world?”

He shook his head, fork tapping against his plate. “Nope. Just here.”

Something in his tone — simple, certain — made your heart stutter for a beat. You looked down at your waffle, trying not to read into it.

“Then it’s settled,” you said softly. “Lazy Sunday it is.”

“Perfect,” he said, leaning back in his chair, watching you with that quiet warmth that always made you feel seen. “Haven’t had one of those in a long time.”

The house felt still for a moment — peaceful, sunlit, alive with something unspoken.

After breakfast, Jake leaned back in his chair with a groan, one hand rubbing absently at his stomach. “Alright,” he said, voice lazy and satisfied. “You’ve officially ruined me. I’m gonna go take that nap you promised me.”

You looked at him, eyebrows lifting. “Nap? It’s barely eleven.”

“Exactly,” he said, already pushing his chair back. “Prime napping hour.”

You stood too, gathering the plates and shooting him a look over your shoulder. “No nap until we do laundry.”

Jake blinked, like you’d just spoken another language. “Laundry?”

“Yes, Jacob,” you said with exaggerated patience. “Laundry. It’s been a week and we had somehow managed to avoid it. I’m not letting you put it off another day.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re cruel.”

“I’m efficient.”

Jake grinned, that teasing glint in his eye as he pointed at you. “You sound just like my mother when you say that.”

You smirked, unbothered. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I love your mom.”

“Don’t.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you walked toward the laundry room. “C’mon, cowboy. Let’s get it done.”

Grumbling dramatically, Jake disappeared upstairs, returning a minute later with one overflowing laundry basket balanced in his arms. “You owe me for this,” he called out, his voice strained under the weight.

“Sure thing,” you answered sweetly from the laundry room. “I’ll let you fold your own shirts.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered under his breath, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

“Go get the other basket!”

As he passed by your room, something broke the rhythm — the sharp, persistent buzz of your phone vibrating against the nightstand. He shifted the basket to one arm and glanced toward the open door. The screen lit up.

Ezra.

Your ex.

Jake’s jaw tensed. He hesitated for a second — just long enough to know he shouldn’t — before stepping inside and setting the basket down. The phone buzzed again. He picked it up, thumb hovering over the screen, then answered.

“Yeah?” His voice came out low, clipped.

There was a pause on the other end, then a familiar voice — too smooth, too casual. “Who the hell is this?”

Jake’s grip tightened around the phone. “The guy telling you to stop calling her.”

Ezra scoffed. “Seresin? I can’t believe this. Put her on the phone.”

Jake’s tone dropped, hard enough to cut glass. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you.”

“I didn’t ask if she wanted to—”

Jake’s patience snapped. “No,” he said flatly. “You’re done. Don’t call her again. Don’t text her. Don’t even think about her. You had your shot, and you blew it, so do us both a favor and fuck off.”

There was a sharp exhale on the other end. “Listen, man—”

Jake hung up before he could finish.

The quiet that followed rang loud in his ears. He stared at the phone for a beat, jaw still tight, before tossing it gently onto the bed.

He picked the basket back up and headed for the laundry room, the muscle in his jaw still ticking, the look in his eyes darker than it had been all morning.

Jake set the basket down beside you, the thump of it on the tile making you glance up from where you were crouched over the open washer.

“Finally,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I was starting to think you got lost up there.”

Jake snorted, crouching beside you to start pulling clothes from the baskets. “Yeah, well, someone has too many throw pillows. I had to fight my way out.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you handed him a bundle of towels. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” he said easily, tossing them into the washer and leaning an elbow against the counter. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “You’re wrong.”

Jake’s mouth twitched, that half-smile that always came with a little mischief. “Didn’t think so.”

For a few minutes, it was just the sound of clothes rustling and the faint hum of the house around you — the kind of quiet that only comes when two people are completely comfortable in it. Jake passed you detergent, his hand brushing yours, and neither of you said a word.

He looked steady. Calm. Like he hadn’t just told your ex to fuck off less than five minutes ago. If anything, he was a little quieter than usual, but not enough to raise suspicion.

“Lights or darks first?” he asked, voice easy, as if the only thing on his mind was fabric care.

You nodded toward the pile. “Darks. The whites can wait.”

He hummed, helping you shove the last of his Navy T-shirts into the drum. “You sure you don’t wanna throw in one of my green ones? Y’know, for variety.”

You snorted. “I’m not risking your precious uniforms.”

“That’s fair,” he said, closing the lid and pressing the start button. The machine rumbled to life, and he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching the water fill.

You stretched your arms over your head, satisfied. “See? Not so bad.”

Jake’s eyes flicked toward you, softer now. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Not bad at all.”

You smiled at him, missing the way his gaze lingered a beat too long before he turned away, pretending to check the timer on the machine.

The silence that settled after wasn’t uncomfortable — just a little weighted, like the air had thickened with something neither of you wanted to name.

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder. “You good?”

Jake blinked, forcing an easy grin. “Yeah, darlin’. Just thinking about that nap you owe me.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes again, and Jake matched it with one of his own — even though his mind was still on the name flashing across your phone screen and the low burn of protectiveness still curling in his chest.

Now the washer hummed steadily down the hall, a low rhythmic sound that filled the silences between pages turning and lazy sighs.

You were curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath you, a throw blanket draped over your knees and your attention fixed on the book in your hands. Jake sat at the other end, phone in one hand, absently scrolling but not really seeing anything on the screen.

It was the kind of Sunday afternoon that should’ve felt mindless. Easy. The light slanted through the big windows, catching on the loose strands of your hair, and every so often you’d shift, the pages whispering as you turned them.

Jake should’ve been relaxed. He’d showered, eaten, done the laundry, and had his best friend back in his house after years of phone calls and rushed visits. Everything about it should’ve been good.

And yet.

His mind kept circling back to your phone ringing upstairs. Ezra.

Jake’s jaw flexed. He tried to scroll past a news headline, then another, but his thumb froze mid-swipe. He could still hear that tone in Ezra’s voice — smug, like you were still his to talk to. Like he hadn’t been the one to make you doubt everything.

He exhaled slowly and forced himself to look away from the phone, setting it face down on the coffee table. You noticed the movement, glancing up briefly, offering him a small smile before your gaze dropped back to your book.

That smile — soft, unaware — knocked something loose in his chest.

You looked peaceful, the kind of calm he hadn’t seen on your face in a while.

And maybe that was why his head was spinning — because he was seeing you every day now, in all the little ways he hadn’t before.

The way your hair curled slightly at the ends when it was drying. The way you hummed under your breath when you were cooking. The way your laugh filled the whole damn room without you even realizing it.

He told himself it was just the closeness. Just the familiarity of years of friendship finally overlapping with daily life again.

But that didn’t stop the quiet ache under his ribs.

“Everything okay?” you asked suddenly, voice low, eyes flicking up from your book.

Jake blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. Why?”

“You were frowning,” you said, marking your page with your thumb. “Like you were thinking too hard.”

He smiled faintly, trying to ease it. “Guess I was. Too much time in my own head, that’s all.”

You nodded, studying him for a second longer than necessary, then leaned back into the couch. “You should stop doing that. Thinking too much.”

Jake chuckled, eyes softening. “You first, gorgeous.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile that followed was quiet and real.

The kind that made him forget about Ezra entirely for a heartbeat.

Outside, the waves lapped against the shore, steady and constant, and the laundry machine buzzed in the distance — the soundtrack to an afternoon that felt simple on the surface, even as everything underneath it started to shift.

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[titsay]